


photographs, saints, and things that remind me of you

by Anonymous



Series: the home boys [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-18 16:31:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11294454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I’ll come back soon,” Sidney announces to the air and he squints at the early sunshine. “I feel like I should thank you, for existing once.” He isn’t sure if he should say something else so he leans and touches the tombstone with his fingertips, and leaves walking on the same path.or Sidney slowly going through the five stages of grief.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so, i blurted this out in a week after i challenged myself to one, write in present tense, and two, do something in the first paragraphs of the story that would change the character itself. it was kind of inspired by my screenplay class, shout-out to my cool teacher!! 
> 
> a few orders of business before you start reading. this is unbeta, so i'm sorry for the mistakes, and there are some things _ignored in this universe_ : trades and injuries, the 2016 playoffs, the 2017 playoffs, the expansion draft, the 2018 Olympics, and some other stuff. also, if you didn't realise, this is tagged with **major character death** so watch out.
> 
> either way, i really enjoyed writing this. i hope you enjoy it, too. ♡

There, in that enormous rink in San Jose, he can’t feel anything.

Sidney can’t help but get a bad taste on his mouth when he sees the last seconds of game seven ticking down. The teal crowd moves like a wave, celebrating their first time winning the Cup. If he didn’t know that fact already, he can notice it: some of the players are so happy and shocked they can’t move. They have worked so hard throughout their lives for this moment that they can’t do anything else but weep openly on the ice. The clamor from the crowd tells him this is a happy city, and Sidney yearns to bring that feeling to the town he started to call his own.

They don’t take long to trickle down the tunnel and the locker room feels smaller than it is and more so when no one is moving besides the staff. The team just stays there, sitting on the stalls, looking at the ground, probably asking themselves what they did wrong. Sidney can’t answer that question.

The speech Sully gives them it’s a weird one. He uses a soft tone that’s foreign to their ears because that’s just _not_ how he works. It would be easier if he was screaming at them, telling them he’s disappointed, because that’s what feels normal. It could make this more digestible.

Sidney gives out a speech himself, short and almost robotic, to the point that anyone could think that he went unharmed on this battle. Yet, in fact, the loss burns him deep. His team is hurting and he carries most of the weight on his chest, near his heart and his letter, and his mind is picking the game apart, showing him what he has done wrong and what he could do better next time.

In some part of his brain, he’s already thinking of what the media is going to say about this, about _him._ He knows the media is going to search the team, the staff, anyone they can get their hands on, and ask how it feels to get this close to the Cup, so close to it but not managing to touch it. He can already picture the titles like _ten reasons why Sidney Crosby’s career is ending_ and all the articles talking about how they should trade him.

So, yeah, his speech is lame because his mind is somewhere else and he doesn’t help them at all. 

Either way, Sidney tries his best and goes to talk to some of the guys before they retreat to their rooms or spend the rest of the night with their family, nursing both internal and external wounds. He takes his time talking to the boys, the ones whose lips have never met the cold silver, and to the ones who had but it’s been so long that the dream is being pushed aside by other things.

He hugs Dales a little tighter than other guys, whispering apologies to his ear.

Dales, who is just too kind to blame Sidney for the lost, just smiles back while patting Sidney’s cheek, telling him not to worry. This is the farthest he has made it, and he’s just thankful for sharing it with this group. Sidney wants to say something else but Dales’ sister appears and presses a phone into his brother’s hand. It’s their mom.

Sidney sees how his face falls as he walks away.

He crosses with Duper, almost accidentally, who tells him he did a great job. Sidney wants to answer back that it wasn’t enough, that he should had fought harder because it’s the last time Duper had the change to wear his jersey, right there, crowned as champions.

Sidney doesn’t or can’t, really, say anything back and just goes to face his own family.

His dad notices how he struggles to find the right words, so he pulls him into a tight hug and tells him how proud he is. Sidney has never doubter over the words before but it really feels like he’s just saying it to be polite. His mom hugs him next and her words seem to have a little more truth in them. Taylor hugs him last, without saying anything. She presses her cheek against his shoulder and it warms up Sidney’s heart for the first time in hours. 

So there, in that small hotel room in San Jose, he still can’t feel anything.

He’s sitting down on the edge of the bed when he listens to the loud crowd on the street, chanting something he can’t understand but the walls can’t muffle the joy on their voices. Sidney groans and decides to ignore everything, so he goes and gets ready to go to sleep.

After scheduling his alarm, there’s a knock on the door. He ignores until there’s another, and another, and another– and something tells him that it’s not any of the rookies. When he opens the door, Geno is there looking at him with sad and tired eyes.

Sidney isn’t really that surprised and he lets him in without saying a word.

He sits at the foot of the bed and looks at Geno, who’s just standing a few feet away from him. He’s still wearing his suit but both his tie and jacket are missing, and his sleeves are rolled up. Geno looks even more tired under the dim light of the nightstand lamp.

“Well,” Sidney stars and takes off his shirt without hesitation. “I didn’t think you’ll be in the mood, but alright.”

“Sid, no,” Geno mutters to himself and he’s obviously annoyed, as if he was expecting that from him. “I’m not here for that.”

And Sidney isn’t sure what to say.  

It’s not the first time Geno has come to him after a loss, searching for reassure in a more carnal way. Sidney is used to _that_ type of Geno after a loss, the one who wants to take him apart to liberate the pent up frustration, to fuck him raw and leave him feeling it for the next few hours. And it’s not like Sidney doesn’t like it, he _loves_ it. He loves it because it’s Geno the one taking control, giving the job of just feeling, letting himself go at all the administrations.

Tonight, when he sees Geno on his doorstep, he thinks he wants just more of the same.

“Big loss tonight,” he says, as if Sidney wasn’t there to experience it. Geno doesn’t take his eyes off of him and his expression seems softer. “We win Cup next year.”

Sidney huffs, looking down at the shirt on his hands. “You can’t promise that.”

“No, I can’t,” Geno says sincerely.

“Then why are you here?” And it’s not like he doesn’t want him here, but he can’t keep a straight face anymore.

Geno frowns down at him. “You talk to team, take care of people. But who take care of you, Sidnyushka?” It doesn’t take him long to stand in between Sidney’s legs and pull him against his chest carefully. Sidney finds himself with his cheek pressed against Geno’s abdomen, feeling his warmth. Geno starts to murmur praises that start in English and become Russian halfway into the phrase, his hands caressing Sidney’s hair.

Something inside tells him that it’s okay, that everything will be okay.

Sidney cries. He cries so hard his hands find themselves in shaking fists, holding onto Geno’s shirt. There’s impotency, knowing that at this point he can’t do anything but soak the loss and learn from it. A part of him says he’s being childish, that he’s crying for something someone else has, something that belongs to a sea of teal and loud voices, something that doesn’t really matter because it’s a _only a game_ but he dismiss it.

And, in the small warmth that Geno brings to him, Sidney feels everything.

He’s overwhelmed but Geno is there and nothing else matters.

Everything will be alright.

 

-

 

They always spend part of the summer together in Pittsburgh.

It’s not a rare occurrence since it has been happening for the past couple of years: they stay in each other’s houses, their flights land on the same day even when is weeks before training camp starts, and they have dinner at Mario’s often. They do hang out an awful lot, Sidney thinks to himself more than one, but it’s just like he would do with Tanger or Flower.

Sidney also knows he’s lying to himself and it’s nothing like hanging out with anyone on his team.

Or any of his friends, or anyone he knows.

Sidney doesn’t wish to wake up tangled up in bed with a half-naked Hagelin, arms around his waist and warm chest pressed against his back. Doesn’t think about Flower making tea in the kitchen, handing him a cup and kisses, and he doesn’t think of Horny buying him bouquets of flowers with the excuse that the house it’s too dead, even when he knows that Sidney loves it.

He doesn’t think about doing any of those things with them, or with anyone else besides Geno.

Their relationship is something they had never discussed before. They have been fooling around since they were young, an excitement bubbling on their chests whenever they were together. Sidney still has that image of Geno, whose face was still smooth and could barely grow a decent beard, with his lips around Sidney’s cock, his tongue moving with such expertise that had Sidney digging his nails into the soft and pale flesh of Geno’s shoulders.

It sounds like they are just friends with benefits but Sidney wholeheartedly disagrees with that.

There is so much more than just sex, something else that Sidney has never felt with anyone else. They feel at ease when they are around each other, dropping expectations and leaving work behind when they are together. There are kisses that don’t search for permission but are left to show appreciation, and there are touches that don’t search for lust but for warm, and Sidney–

And Sidney falls in love with Geno, just a little, because he’s like that.

Or maybe isn’t just a little but a lot.

Or maybe he’s already in love because Sidney knows there’s a part of his heart that belongs to Geno; it has been his since he waltzed into his live. He has always felt something for him, it’s just that time and experience has shaped it into something stronger to the point that Sidney can’t really put into words. He asks himself if he should tell Geno that he loves him.  

Sidney doesn’t dwell on the question too much. The summer is rolling on a steady pace and every moment with Geno in the present is more important than whatever is going around his head.

So, when Sidney wakes up to feel Geno’s lips pressing kisses along his spine, to Geno’s fingers dancing quietly alongside his hip, to Geno’s voice telling him that his house decoration is horrible and everything would look prettier with a cup that’s tall and made of silver and has their names engraved on it– when Sidney turns to lie facing Geno and Geno is there, hungry eyes but the gentlest of smiles, he wants to keep him forever.

He wants to win as many Cups as he can, to succeed in every part of his life, and he has always wanted that but now something is different.

Sidney opens his mouth to tell Geno, tell him he loves him, to promise him he will win everything he can but doesn’t want to do it alone. He wants to do it with him at his side, his talented winger, his alternate. He wants to win with him but _for him_ , too.

Geno is kissing him before he can make out a word, and his hands are moving south, and Sidney–

Sidney just melts into the touch and his mind goes blank.

 

-

 

Sidney’s on the final stretch of his morning jog, hating himself a little bit.

Halfway through the jog, he stands in front of Geno’s house wondering if he should come in. There wouldn’t be any problem with him coming in and staying for a while, since he had some clothes there and both of them were going to the optional skate. Yet, Sidney decides against it when he remembers Geno’s text last night: _see chris tomorrow about knee. Later so i sleep)))_

Sidney forgets about Geno’s awkward fall the other night because he returned to the ice right away.

_Okay,_ he texted back before strapping his phone on his arm and closing the door behind himself.

Sidney groans as he enters his house, feeling achy already. The regret settles on his chest as he takes off his sweaty shirt, struggling with the long sleeves that stick to his arms, and thinking that for once he could take it easy and come later in the day with Geno. He wouldn’t be there, showering alone, eating breakfast alone, and driving alone to the arena.

But he is, and now he’s stuck in traffic and annoyed to himself.

The hallways are emptier than on a normal day and, since they don’t have a game that night or the next one, and the staff is taking it easy. It’s such a rare sight and two free days feels like a blessing, more so when it’s the middle of January, a few months away from the end of the regular season. After he gets changed, he makes his way to the ice to find some of the younger boys working hard with Sully on their tail. He smiles as his skates land on the ice and, when he makes his way to the crease, Muzz hits him lightly on the shins with his stick.

Practice goes fast but not lightly, never lightly when it comes to their coach. Sidney is next on the line, puck ready on his stick and ears waiting for Sully’s whistle, when he gets called by someone else. Tocchet’s deep voice from the bench catches his attention and the attention of everybody present, so he skates over. Before he stops, Tocchet’s talking. “Mario wants to see you.”

“Now?” He asks, because that’s weird. The assistant coach nods before shrugging and returning to the ice, leaving him there. It wasn’t the first time he had been called up by Mario, but it was the first time it happened in the middle of practice, as if the older man couldn’t find out the schedules of his players.

He doesn’t think too much about it and he makes his way to the locker room to change.

Mario is already there, talking to Dana about something.

“Hi,” Sidney says, frown deep on his face. Mario turns to him and gives him a smile that doesn’t settle well with Sidney. “What’s up?”

There’s some hesitation on his face before Mario says “why don’t you get changed and we talk on the stands?” Sidney, again, doesn’t read too much into it and just does as he’s told.

They make small talk on the way to the upper floors –the kids, the weather, the season, whatever, and it’s an easy, small talk that reminds Sidney the ones he has with his father. It’s strange but settling at the same time.

“Sorry I had to take you out of practice,” Mario apologies as they make their way onto some seats. There are some boys still doing their final rounds on the ice but the sounds of the skates are accompanied with a silence that Sidney isn’t used to listening or isn’t used to not listening. Whatever.

They both sit next to each other and Sidney’s eyes fall on the profile of Mario’s face before looking around them. “So, what’s going on?”

Mario lets out a shaky breath that leaves Sidney shifting on his seat. “This is probably not the best place to bring out the news, but, fuck,” he curses and Sidney feels something on his chest that he isn’t sure if it’s nervousness or straight up panic. “I’ll just say it.” He, again, pauses, and there’s doubt on his face as if he’s searching the right words.

And just like that, Mario opens his mouth and says a string of words that makes Sidney dizzy. He isn’t sure why the rink in front of them suddenly blurs, he isn’t sure why he can’t hear Horny yelling something to Hags. When he turns his face to face Mario, the older man’s mouth is moving but Sidney can’t make anything he says.

“What?” He asks, blinking up at the older man.

And Mario repeats it, the words falling on Sidney again.

He doesn’t know what to say, what to think, or what to do. So Sidney just stays there, cemented to the seat under him. Mario moves on the seat next to him and his hand is warm against Sidney’s shoulder. “Sidney,” he calls, as if he was making sure he was still there with him. “Jim and I thought that, well, you might want to know first.”

Sidney sits in silence under Mario’s paternal watch. His chest tightens up, his mind feels like a fog, and his mouth can only form a word over and over again because the connection between it and his brain feels broken. “What?” It’s the only word he can trust himself to say without wavering.

“I know,” Mario starts. “I know you two were really close.”

Words shouldn’t hurt, they shouldn’t cut deep. Sidney has trained himself over the years to overlook the undertone of some words thrown around the ice, the locker room, the media; he just doesn’t get hurt by them. Yet, the past tense of the phrase runs cold on his veins and he feels all the air escape from his lungs. He doesn’t say anything in response.

He’s not sure how long they are like that, sitting side by side, but a different voice appears and Sidney only can hear the buzz of Mario’s voice. Soon enough, someone is standing in front of them, a pair of chairs separating them.

He meets Jim’s eyes, warm and caring, before he talks. “It’s time to go.”

Sidney isn’t sure where they are going, why they are going, but he just nods in silence. He gets up slowly, Mario’s steady hand on his elbow as his knees quiver under him, failing him for the first time in years. They work their way to the doors, a few people standing there already, and they make their way down.

After walking through too silent and too bright halls, Sidney catches the sight of the empty locker room.

If Mario’s hand wasn’t on his back, guiding him through, he would walk in and find his phone, pressing the call button on Geno’s contact. Sidney wants to hear the Russian curses and the English questions stumbling on Geno’s tongue, asking him why he’s calling when he knows he’s sleeping. Sidney wants to tell him everything Mario told him and listen to Geno’s reaction.

He would probably laugh, quietly and deep, everything about it warm from the sleep.

Sidney wants to do that but it’s too late, and they are already walking into a conference room.

He expects to find the few guys that were on practice with him, changed and with wet hair from the shower. Instead, he finds the whole team plus their staff sitting and standing along the walls. All of them have confused expressions on their faces. Sidney sits, or gets seated by someone, he isn’t sure, on an empty chair. He must look like a wreck because there are murmurs going around the room.

And there’s Flower, sitting beside him, questions written all over his face.

Sidney wants to look at him, hoping that it’s enough answer for him, but Mario is already clearing his throat on the front of the room. He makes a small introduction but it doesn’t take long before he uses the same words Sidney heard. The words _passed away, found, sudden death_ are new and they become arrows hitting Sidney’s heart.

Flower’s hand sneaks into Sidney’s clasped ones. He does it softly and quietly, tangling their fingers together, and it somehow makes Sidney settle down into the moment.

There’s a sniff behind them and when Sidney turns around, he finds Gonch crying. Something inside Sidney breaks, because he looks like he just lost a child, the _son_ he never had. There are other people around him who have the same heartbroken and shocked expression, almost as if they didn’t really believe what they are being told. Sidney understands them.

Flower’s hand squeezes his and Sidney turns around.

He manages to catch Jim and wasn’t Mario there a few seconds ago? He’s saying something about a hiatus in the league, Sidney doesn’t get to hear how long, and then Jim lightly mentions something about the funeral.

Sidney realizes he has never been in a funeral and he never thought his first one would be Geno’s.

 

-

 

Sidney wakes up not remembering where he is.

At least he does know that the blanket covering him wasn’t there when he fell asleep. It takes him a while to figure out he’s in his old bedroom at the Lemieux’s house, unoccupied since he moved on his own. He wonders if they keep it like that just in case he decides to sell his house, again. He rolls on his side and sees the sky through the window, showing him a deep colored afternoon with gray clouds dressed in pink. It makes him know night is just a few minutes away.

Everything seems alright until he remembers.

Sidney sighs shakily under his breath, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes.

He shifts on the bed and notices he’s still wearing the suit he wore for the press– fuck, the _press conference_.

It hasn’t been a day since he sat down on his stall after Jim delivered the news, all of them in the locker room because they weren’t sure what to do with themselves. Sully talks to them, in the lowest voice Sidney has ever heard from him. Suddenly he’s asking something and people are answering around him. A bunch of guys are already agreeing into something and Sidney feels out of place, until Sully asks him something he can’t really understand.

“What?” He asks, before clearing his throat.

Sully’s expression softens even before he talks. “Do you want to be present for the press conference?” Something tells him he should be the one asking that question to the guys, giving out example, being a leader, but there’s numbness all over him, so all he can do is nod in silence.

He stands behind Mario on the press room, brushing shoulders with his teammates, as the older man delivers the news to the world, suddenly and without a warning. It’s a shock to everyone.

Sidney’s phone buzzing it’s what brings him back to reality.

He knows he should call him mom, she knows Sidney spends an awful lot of time with Geno. Wait, he spent, because Geno is– fuck.

His phone is in his hands, for some reason, even when he has no actual intention in calling his mom. There are notifications that he doesn’t even dare reading, he just scrolls by his phone and finds Geno’s contact. Inside his heart there’s doubt, he questions himself what would happen if he called Geno’s number. This could be the biggest prank of all time, for all he knows.

Sidney presses the call button and waits, listening to the beeping on the line. No one answers, so he tries again. And no one answers, so he tries again and again and again and–

At the end, someone answers and his heart goes from his chest to his stomach and up his throat.  

“ _Sidnyushka?”_ It’s a woman’s voice he recognizes as Geno’s mother. She says something in Russian, her voice broken and hoarse, and Sidney knows she’s asking him a question but can’t reply. He can’t make himself answer nor form any word so he hangs up quickly. He locks the phone and throws it under the bed.

Getting up from bed was difficult.

Actually, just sitting up in bed was difficult, and getting up from it was excruciating. But, after he manages to do it, he walks to the bag of clothes with the intent to take a shower.

He notices it’s not his usual travel bag but the one he uses when he stays at Geno’s, the one that’s always sitting on the truck of his car, just in case. Roaming around it, he comes out with dirty clothes from the last time and, well, something that’s obviously not his. Sidney looks at the shirt and hesitantly presses the gray and soft fabric against his nose. He doesn’t think if he’s being weird when that familiar smell hits him: it smells like Geno, barely but present.

Sidney pulls it away from his face and bites the insides of his mouth, holding himself together.

After debating if he should bury it under his own clothes, he decides to wear it and grabs a pair of pants.

He’s in the shower for he doesn’t know how long. Mario knocks in the door to tell him that dinner’s ready and Sidney wants to respond that he just got in the shower, tell him that they shouldn’t wait for him, until he notices the wrinkles on his fingertips. Oh.

Dinner marks the most awkward moment Sidney has ever lived in the Lemieux’s household.

It’s only Nathalie, Mario, and himself. It’s not like he can’t have a normal conversation with adults –well, he’s an adult but with adults that actually do adult things. It’s just their worry it’s starting to put Sidney over the edge. Nathalie seems to get teary eyed every time she sees him, Mario has opened and closed his mouth without saying a word, and both of them treat Sidney as if he’s about to break.

As soon as he finishes his dinner, he makes the excuse that he’s tired.  And even he doesn’t know if it’s an excuse, because he actually feels tired, just not _physically._ Either way, it works and both of them nod quickly. Sidney is about to leave when Nathalie gets up quickly and pulls him into a tight hug. For a moment, Sidney wishes his mom was with him.

“I’m so sorry, Sid,” Nathalie says quietly, after pulling away. “I’ll always have the memory of a young Geno appearing on our front porch, you remember?” Of course Sidney remembers because when those tired eyes fell on him, and that smile bloomed on his face, and that hand shook his, Geno changed his world and– and Nathalie’s already crying. “God, he’ll be missed terribly.”

Sidney doesn’t know what to say so he nods back before retreating to his old bedroom, feeling their eyes following him.

He closes the door behind himself and sits at the edge of the bed again, but then notices a faint buzz coming from under the bed. As soon as he fishes for his phone, the screen shows the word _mom_ and he asks himself if he should answer. He does because it’s his mom.

“Sidney?” The phone is pressed against his ear, her voice sounds so close and it’s something he hasn’t heard in a while. “Sid?”

“Hi, mom” and his answer is low but it sounds so loud in the room, as if there was an echo. Sidney hunches over and passes a hand through his face when she gasps, almost as if he didn’t believe he answered. She starts rambling and his mind can’t catch up with her, so he just listens to her voice and she sounds… she sounds so _sad._

There’s a pause when she notices that he’s not responding, not even the usual hums to let her know he’s still listening. Sidney is still there on the line, still sitting on the bed, still on his bosses’ house, still unable to believe that Geno is dead. He sits with his back pressing against the wall as he looks at nothing. “How are you?” She asks, concerned.

He swallows, clears his throat, and starts toying with his golden chain, his fingers brushing the saints dangling from it. He wants to lie and tell her that he’s alright and he’s dealing with the situation. What comes out from his mouth it’s just the pure unaltered truth because she’s his mom. “I don’t know,” he answers, still talking low. “I, I really don’t know, mom.”  

She’s quiet on the line before he hears a soft sniff. “It’s okay, Sid. Time heals. Things will be alright with time.”

It’s not a while after they hang up and Sidney lies on the bed once again.

He wonders if things will ever be alright as he falls asleep.

 

-

 

The night before the funeral, Sidney opens the front door to find Alexander Ovechkin standing there.

He’s wearing sunglasses and a cap even when the sun is barely there, and his duffel bag still has the sticker from his flight.

Sidney could be surprised but with the circumstances, with everything that’s happening, he’s really not.

They are sitting out in the back a few minutes later because, what do you do when you have Alexander Ovechkin around? Sidney shifts on his seat and closes his eyes for a moment when he feels the warm night breeze hitting his face. He opens them again and looks at Alex, who just sits there, eyes fixed on the sun hiding behind some trees and houses. A thought comes to Sidney when he remembers Alex’s bag on the living room.

“Ovi,” he starts to get the attention of the older man, “if you don’t have a hotel, you can stay here.”

Sidney says it because it’s what feels right. Alex just looks at him with an arched eyebrow.

“I mean. It’s, uhm, the least I can do right now.”

It’s weird seeing Alex this tranquil, this pensive, without any toothy and bright smiles that he shoots at Sidney whenever he wants to get on his nerves, to annoy him and throw him off. And, if Sidney actually thought about it, Alex being in Pittsburgh is weird enough on itself.

Alex answers while Sidney is swimming through his thoughts. “I don’t get hotel, so. Thank you, Sid.” He doesn’t think about how sincere he sounds. Instead, he thinks how this is probably the first time they have called each other by their nicknames.

The next morning is even stranger. Both of them are wearing black suits, black ties, black jackets –hell, Sidney’s even wearing a black shirt.

Alex is more talkative though. “You get invited to church, too, yes?” He says and Sidney nods. It was a surprise because he wasn’t sure if he should even be there. “You are going to wish goodbye to Zhenya?”

Sidney almost chokes on his coffee. “What? Uh, I mean, what? What do you mean?”

Alex takes a sip of his tea as Sidney stumbles over his own words. The jam that Geno uses for his own tea, the one that’s been on the fridge door next to Sidney’s favourite brand, is now on the counter between them and next to the half of a lemon. “I mean, you go and kiss the dead, put flowers on him, say goodbye. Tell how much you love them, everyone does it. It’s tradition.”

There’s a pause before he asks, not looking at Alex. “Do I have to?”  Sidney’s voice sounds to wrecked and Alex notices how he’s almost shaking, trying to hold everything in. Sidney’s trying to keep a straight face and failing at it: his eyes are a little too wide and he’s a shade paler. “I’m not sure- I’m not sure I can, uh-”

“Sid,” Alex says, his hand resting on Sidney’s wrist. “ _Breathe._ ”

It takes a moment for Sidney’s mind to recognize the Russian words. He does take a deep breath and his exhale is shaky. His hands are around his coffee mug even when it’s a little too hot.

“It’s okay. Talk to Zhenya’s family and when goodbyes start, you go out.”

“Isn’t that like, rude?” Sidney questions, his forehead furrowed.

Alex shakes his head after a moment. “I tell about tradition and you almost pass out. I’m not really sure you can go and see him,” and Sidney wants to refute, say that he will be alright, but the images come washing like waves on his mind: Geno there, lying there on the casket, dead, cold and _dead–_ it’s Alex’s finger tapping his wrist what pulls him away of the thoughts.

“Okay,” he agrees at last, his eyes fixed on his half drank coffee. “Uhm, we’ll see.”

“Sidney,” Alex starts again, as if the previous conversation never happened. “How are you?”

“Me? How am I?”

Alex looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Have you cried?”

Sidney looks up from his cup and at Alex. “Have I cried?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?” There’s no annoyance coming slipping into the words, just concern. It’s something that he’s not accustomed when it comes to Alex. “Yes, Sid. Have you cried? Talk about what happen with someone like, what’s going on in head?”

Right there, Sidney lets out the biggest lie in the entire universe. “Yes, of course.”

It hasn’t even been a week since Geno died, but it feels like an eternity to Sidney. Everyday feels longer than the last and everyday his heart weights more. There’s a mental fog falling over him, making him lose minutes or hours at the time without noticing it. He just feels, well, no. He doesn’t feel anything at all, he’s just numb. His life is moving forward, things are happening, and he’s there watching it all happen. The problem is that his brain isn’t really… _working_. It’s ignoring the events, the situation, _everything_.

So, he knows he’s not doing well but when people ask him, he says what they want to hear: that he’s alright and they shouldn’t worry about him. He’s also the captain, which means he has a bunch of guys to look over. He doesn’t have time to make himself vulnerable.

Alex, of course and Sidney thinks it’s a Russian thing, sees through the bullshit.

“I know it’s hard, I lived hard moments, too,” Alex confesses. “Sad but I’m been to funerals and–”

“No,” Sidney interrupts him, feeling uncomfortable. “I don’t. I don’t need a talk. I’m fine, really.”

They look at each other in silence, almost as if it was a standoff. Alex decides to let it go as he looks at his phone and says they will be late. He insists on driving and Sidney insists on telling him no until he notices his hands: they are shaking.

They share another look before Sidney deposits his car keys on Alex’s hands.

Sidney, once again, loses track of time. The next thing he knows it’s that he’s being seated next to Gonch and Alex, and he’s sure he saw Kutznetsov on their way into the church and some other guy he can’t recall his name.

Somehow, the Russian talk around him makes Sidney feel at home.

The tangled sounds brings warm memories of Geno mumbling words Sidney can’t understand, not in the middle of the night or in the early morning, both of them still in bed and sleepy. It brings memories of slow summer afternoons when Geno calls back home, talking so fluidly and happily, dropping Sidney’s nickname here and there. Memories of Geno making him watch Russian movies even when he knows Sidney will fall asleep in the middle of it, and memories of Geno making Sidney say words in Russian, over and over again until he didn’t laugh at the pronunciation.

Words like _seventy one, please, fuck you, pretty, thank you, please,_ and–

“How do you say I love you?” Sidney asks, lying on the bed, basking in the afterglow. Geno is lying on top of him, chin pressing against the middle of Sidney’s chest, his black hair going everywhere since Sidney couldn’t really keep his hands to himself. His lips are glistening and his beard messy and Sidney can only sigh at the sight. He knows Geno left burns on his tights.

“Why?” Geno asks and rest his cheek against Sidney’s skin. “Why you want to know?”

Sidney hums. “Maybe I want to impress a Russian girl.”

“Then I’m not tell,” he mumbles and Sidney just smiles. Geno’s breath is cool against his skin.

Sidney pulls Geno up by his shoulders so he can kiss him. “You’re a child.”

“No, you are child,” he replies back mockingly, before pressing another kiss into Sidney’s lips. “ _I love you,_ ” he says and Sidney repeats it, trying to taste the word on his mouth. Geno smiles as if he’s holding up a laugh and Sidney really wants to push him out of the bed.

Sidney feels a knot forming on his throat.

His eyes look around the church, listening to the praying going around him, and they fall on Geno’s picture and close to it, the casket is there.

The knot gets tighter and Sidney wonders how he’s still breathing. Geno is there. His body is there. He knows he’s expected to go and say goodbye at some point but he’s sure he can’t, he can’t, he can’t go and say, say things to him and– he feels dizzy and his ears are already ringing with the faint echo of the prayers. Sidney thinks he would make a fool of himself if he faints.

So, he breathes deeply, closes his eyes, and Alex mumbling next to him is what keeps him grounded.

He’s not sure how much time he has lost when he hears Alex saying something he doesn’t follow, but him pointing at Geno’s parents its explanation enough. They walk up to them and they are so close to the casket, Sidney’s so close to seeing Geno and–

He feels overwhelmed until Natalya hugs him, because something inside him settles. She has tears on her eyes and she’s saying something, something in her language that Sidney doesn’t understand, so he searches help from Alex. He translates part of it quickly. “She is happy that Zhenya got to meet you, Sid. He was most happy with you.”

She says something else that Alex decides to not translate but he doesn’t really have to.

She presses something against his hand and it’s Geno’s chain.

He’s about to say something about how he can’t rally accept it, how this shouldn’t be with him, but Gonchar is repeating some words Alex said before to her and Sidney is being pull into a hug by Vladimir, just in the same way Geno would have done.

The people who are done talking with the family are making their way to Geno, flowers on their hands.

Sidney is making his way away out of the church, car keys in one hand and the chain on the other.

He sits in the car because he doesn’t really know what he else he could do.

A part of him wants to go inside and see Geno. He wants to whisper the soft words he taught him and kiss him for the last time. But, first of all, he can’t, and second, he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve and something holds him from doing it because everything will seem real. Everything will _be_ real.

Right now, Sidney is scared of reality. He keeps death hidden on the back of his mind and has always tried his best to live in the moment.

Right now, he just wants to get stuck in the past.

He still has Geno’s chain on his hand and somehow, it burns. So he opens the glove compartment and throws it there, not wanting to think about it. A knock on the window startles him and he feels like a kid getting caught doing something bad.

It’s just Alex.

Sidney gets out of the car and locks it behind them, just as they are making their way to the entrance of the church. Alex presses and unlit candle to his hands that Kutznetsov lights up. It doesn’t take long for the casket to make its way out of the front doors and all of them mark behind it: a slow but steady procession lead by the priest, praying in Russian.

The multitude around him swallows him and Sidney notices that he’s just a few people away from the casket. He doesn’t want to believe that Geno is there, so he concentrates in the candle on his hands, shining brightly even when it’s midday on a cloudy day.

There’s people waiting on the cemetery and Sidney notices his team is already there, huddled up together as if they were proper penguins. He also catches some blond and brown, long hairs from their wives. They stand quietly while the procession passes and, when they see Sidney in between the people, their hands pull him out and into their arms. All of them look at him with sad expressions and Sidney isn’t sure if he can replicate them.

He catches familiar faces, people he hasn’t seen in years but whose name is there on the Cup next to his. The staff is there too, and Sidney can see some of the rookies on the back, probably unsure if they should be there. Duper eyes meet Sidney’s and is next to him in a heartbeat, his hand on the back of his head, pressing him into a comfortable hug against his cold jacket. Sidney remembers why he misses him so much.

Sidney is surrounded by the people he calls family as the casket is lowered to the ground.

His mind drifts and he can’t do anything else but hold the candle on his hands, feeling nothing and everything at the same time.

Still, he doesn’t cry.

Night is almost falling when Alex drives them back to the house.

Sidney spends the whole ride with his eyes closed, sometimes opening them up and observing the lights illuminating the road ahead, shadows of steel bridges and tall buildings passing quickly through the window. As they make their way into downtown, Sidney sees flashes of candles and flowers and things lying under Lemieux’s statue in front of the arena.

The humming Alex does under his breath sends Sidney into a short, dreamless sleep.

It’s the next morning, when Sidney walks down and into the kitchen to find an already dressed Alex sitting at the breakfast bar. His bag is on the floor, sitting behind his chair. He’s drinking tea and there’s a second cup that’s still hot, so Sidney figures he heard him walking around. “You’re leaving today,” he says, and it’s more an affirmation than a question.

Alex nods in silence before he takes a paper out of his pocket. “Take this.”

Sidney frowns but takes the small paper. Alex’s handwriting is similar to Geno’s: a little clumsy as if they doubted over the letters, the edges a little too sharp, but still legible. He realizes it’s a direction in Washington, and there are numbers next to it. “House address and gate code, if you need it.”

“Need it for what?” Sidney’s frown deepens. Alex looks at him with a raised eyebrow and the younger captain kind of catches up: if he needs to _talk_. “Why do you do this? I have my own team to lean on.” He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly upset, he wants to tear the paper up and forget it was even on his hands once. That Alex was on his house once. That everything happened.

“Yes, you have team, but hide from them. It’s not okay, Sid, I know you’re not okay,” he says. “Not cry, not look sad, just… blank.”

Sidney lets out a huff and crosses his arms on his chest. “I’m fine.”

“No,” Alex insists and Sidney feels his blood boil. “Think about seeing professional, too.”

“I’m fine–”

“Stop,” Alex drinks what’s left in his cup, gets up and carries the cup to the sink. “Keep it, in case you need. We talk, we get drunk or cry, it’s okay. You have number on phone and address. You say it, it’s least I can do.”

The words hit in a way he didn’t expect because it is truth, maybe this is Alex’s way to return the favor. So, he looks down at the paper on his hands and nods in silence. “Alright, thank you.”

Alex taps on his arm and then gives him a side hug that Sidney waits to be uncomfortable but it isn’t. It was quick and short but sweet. It isn’t like the hugs he had been getting from other people, who just pull him without asking and their hugs are sad and heartbroken, and Sidney isn’t sure what to do with himself.

He looks at Alex as he’s gathering his stuff, checking he has everything, and Sidney doesn’t know why he expected everything about them to be an awkward. They never had bad blood between them; it was mostly a media construct because of their skill. Yes, they have played on rival teams at any possible level but their own experiences overlapped a little too much.

The ridiculous anger is gone and when Sidney talks, he’s being truthful. “Thank you.” Alex looks up, almost surprised. “It was good having you here.”

Alex nods and points at him with his phone. “I’m serious, Sid. If need to talk, I’m here.” And just like that, he walks out of the house. He listens a car door close before driving away.

The small piece of paper finds a small place between Sidney’s phone and his case.

 

-

 

Sidney wants to treat the first game back as if it was any other game in the middle of the season.

He wants to go around and do his routines, to take the long walk to avoid the visitor’s locker room, to tape his stick slowly and methodically as he has been doing for years, to eat his pre-game pb&j sandwich because why not, and to do his stretches before he pulls on his jersey. But, it doesn’t really matter how much he wishes to drown himself on his own world because the ambient on the locker room and the hallways is heavy. His steps feel heavy and, how the fuck is that even possible?

He looks around the guys on their stalls and it seems like whatever Sidney tried to do to help them, didn’t work. In fact, they look even sadder.

Sidney tried to make his way around the team on the days they had: talking with them, listening, remembering, doing things that could help them move on. He remembers standing under a tree at the cemetery when Olli had to walk away from the funeral, trying to calm him down. He spent the whole funerary service sitting down besides Phil and Bonino, listening to them talk but not saying much after they chocked on their own words. 

Hanging out with Flower, Kuni, and Tanger had been different. They have their wives and kids, distracting them from the loss, putting a smile on their faces easily. Sidney thinks he hang out mostly with them for the same reason. The kids understood, painting hundred and one pictures for their uncle Geno and went to wish him goodbye at the Lemieux’s statue. After that, they keep going. Sad but steady, and part of Sidney envies that.

Sidney looks around the room and feels that they are looking worse than before and, can he really blame them? The locker room is their space, where they construct their own future season after season, game after game. A slow and steady pace bonding them, through the years if they are lucky enough. So, seeing that MALKIN stall empty, it does hurt. It really does.

The guys are walking around through their own routines and others are talking in soft shushes, but there’s not too much going around the room. Sidney doesn’t say anything to anyone, mostly because he doesn’t know what, and keeps going with his routine. He knows he should say something, try to cheer them up, but he also knows it’s a lost cause.

He knows it because he’s also feeling weird.

There’s a buzz on his ears that keeps appearing every so often, pulling him away from reality.

He’s in a weird headspace when Sully calling his name before the game starts.

“You’re ready, Sid?” He asks and Sidney wants to say no. He wants to take his jersey on and forget it has the captainship sewn on it, walk away from the room and cry, even when he knows he won’t. He really, really wants to do that but instead he says yes, looking around the room. His eyes stay on Schultzy’s A a little too long. “Okay boys, let’s do it for Geno.”

Sidney wonders if that’s going to be Sully’s new phrase as a replacement for his creative Just Play from last year. He thinks it would be tasteless, to push the death of someone as fuel for something that’s just a game. Yet, it seems like it works and the guys seem to be gearing themselves for the game, so he doesn’t say a thing.

On the walk to the ice, with the booming voice of the presenter echoing around the tight walls, Sidney looks behind himself and gets disappointed when he doesn’t see Geno. He sometimes forgets.

They skate out, all of them, one after the other hitting the ice, and they are received with thunderous applauses. Their crowd is alive, even when there are undertones of sadness lying beneath. It doesn’t take them long to skate into a line just as they had been instructed. Sidney looks to his feet, listening to the incomprehensible words from the commentator but his eyes catch gold and black.

There is an enormous banner with Geno’s name and number sewn into it. Sidney follows it with his eyes as it is lifted slowly to the rafters. He drinks the sight in front of him, knowing that was the last time he was going to see that seventy one on the ice again. There’s a knot forming on his stomach and he thinks he’s crying.

He’s not, it’s someone on his side and it’s Dumo.

The defenseman has this strange expression on his face, as if he was trying to keep the tears inside but Sidney sees he’s failing terribly, streaks of wetness going down his cheeks. Sidney pulls him into a one sided hug were he melts into. Besides Dumo, there are other sniffs coming from behind him and he doesn’t really want to turn around to see his team.

He knows he can’t really look back because he’s also dizzy –dizzy from the deafening silence at the arena, and the slow pace of the banner is stretching the seconds. So, almost without thinking, Sidney starts to hit his stick on the ice. Soon enough, the players from both teams are hitting their sticks against the ice, the boards, and everyone on the crowd is on their feet clapping, yelling and cheering.

After the ceremony is done, Sidney takes a moment to observe the banner from the blue line, noticing how it gets lost between the lights from the arena.

They win the game, beating the Oilers and giving Flower a beautiful shutout.

It one of the few games they manage to win for the rest of the season. It’s funny how things go downhill from there.

Sidney can’t find the back of the net, every shot is a little to wide and a little too much, or is just straight up predictable and most goalies can read him better than a book in their own mother language. They are not even the worst of his problems: he keeps passing the puck where Geno should be, but isn’t. Sully screams to him, over and over again, on and off the ice, at practice and at games, that he should be over that, that there are enough people he can pass to.

“Hell, I’ll be even happy if you start passing it to the other team,” he says, and Sidney tastes truth on his words.

Instinctively, he keeps passing it to Geno. He always has.

Maybe he’s in a terrible scoring drought and maybe he’s trying to do the best he can, but it’s not enough. Everything seems more difficult everyday and it feels like he has forgotten how to play hockey.

In the meanwhile, he has also forgotten how to be a captain.

The team has been working their asses off and trying their best to pull his weight, but nothing seems to work. If Sidney wasn’t feeling guilty before, he’s definitely feeling it now, but it passes because his mind keeps going where he can’t follow, whishing things he doesn’t have: a Cup, his team, _Geno_.

“Stop.” Sidney looks over from where he’s leaning over tying his skates, seeing Flower standing in front of him. The goalie sits on Jake’s stall next to him, pads-less and looking smaller than ever. “You heard me? Get your head out of your ass. This is our last chance to make it to the fucking playoffs.”

“I’m trying my best,” Sidney answers monotonously. He wants to go back to his skates when a hand presses him against the back of his stall.

“No, you’re not,” Flower says, angry. Sidney is taken aback because he has never seen this side of Flower, who’s the one who walks away as soon as the fumes start to go to his head. “You’re thinking too much. Geno, fuck, –Sid, he didn’t die for you to pull out this shit.”

Sidney swallows and his reply is a little too loud. “Ah, so now it’s my fault he’s dead?”

Some heads turn around at them; even Dana is watching them with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. “ _Tabarnak,_ Sidney. I never said that. Listen to yourself.” Flower’s hand squeezes his arm and Sidney shakes him off. “Don’t be _this_ stupid.” There are tears on Flower’s eyes when he dares to look at him and Sidney, a Sidney that’s blinded by anger and grief, just doesn’t think too much about whatever it’s happening.

“I’m fine. I’m doing what I can here,” he hissed back. “You’re not even playing. You don’t really know what’s happening on the ice.” Sidney knows it’s a low fucking blow but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care at all about anything right now.

Flower takes deep breath and mumbles something under it, as if he was trying to not sucker punch Sidney right on the face. “You’re denying everything, okay? That’s not okay, you’re not fine and we all know. You think we don’t know about your meetings with Sully and Mario?” He pauses for a moment. “You’re struggling and we want to help you.”

That lights up emergency alarms on Sidney’s mind because _no._ _He_ should be the one helping the team, _they_ shouldn’t worry about him. “I’m fine,” Sidney spits out as he turns to him. “I don’t need your help, Marc-Andre.”

And then he walks to check on his sticks, just to find an excuse to get away from there before the game.

Ah, yes, the game. It’s a fucking shit show.

Sidney’s sure it could be marked as the worst game in the history of the franchise, the league, of _any league._ As soon as the puck hits the ice, everything goes wrong: they can’t make any good plays, their defense isn’t really defending, and they keep hitting and bumping into each other on the ice, miscommunication at its finest. Sully yells so much and so hard, as if it would start to work at some point. On the other hand, Muzz is the starting goalie but he doesn’t even gets to finish. It doesn’t need to be said that Flower didn’t come out triumphant either.

It’s like, throughout the season, their well oiled machine lost a gear. It’s okay, gears can get replaced. This one, sadly, is so important that the rest of the machinery rusted quickly until their pieces started to fall out. It’s like Flower was the last gear in place and tonight, he just fell and the whole team succumbed with him.

When the horn sounds to indicate the end of the game, the team doesn’t even look at each other searching for comfort. 

Sidney enters the locker room in silence, making his way to his stall. He then changes and walks to throw some of his clothes into the dirty pile when Flower bumps into him. Both of them share a look, a look that speaks volumes about what they think. He bumps back into him and, after Flower speaks, Sidney isn’t sure really sure happens next, he just loses himself.

“You’re an asshole. Geno would be fucking disappointed in you.”

Sidney throws himself to Flower and both of them are suddenly on the floor, rolling around. Flower ends up on top of him and he can feel the weight of his pads on his ribs. They move around and Sidney, once again, a Sidney that’s blinded by anger and negation and disappointed on himself, throws a punch that lands awkwardly on Flower’s cheek, on his _best friend’s_ cheek.

There’s no hesitation in the punch Flower returns. Sidney yells to hit him harder and Flower does.

Chaos falls on the locker room and Sidney hears yelling while they exchange blows. Hands are wrapping around their limps and pulling them away from each other. Tanger’s eyes are wide, shocked, as he holds tightly into Flower, Phil getting between them.

Sidney feels himself being lifted up from the floor and pulled onto his feet, before falling to his stall. If he looks up, he knows is Kuni and Schultzy flanking him, their bright yellow A on their chest saying enough. There’s a metallic taste on his mouth and, after he runs his tongue over his lip, he notices it’s swollen and bleeding –Flower did punch him harder then.

Sully comes in while they are being pushed into different sides of the room, and his face is colored with fury.

“Why,” he asks and everyone is silent, feeling the tension on the air. Sully doesn’t say anything as he walks short lengths, his exhales sharper and harder than the last. “I can’t, you, I, of all people,” he’s stumbling over his words and Sidney catches on the corner of his eye a nervous looking Sheary, as if he was scared their coach was going to lose it, too. Instead, Sully opens his mouth and his voice is steady, too cold. “Crosby. Get out of here, you’re scratched.”

Sidney shoots up from his stall, ready to yell back at the coach because of course that’s the most logical decision.

He stops before he opens his mouth because Sully shoots him a look that’s enough to push him down. “You had a _disgusting_ performance tonight and this,” he chuckles and there is steaming blood running on Sidney’s veins. “This is just fucking idiotic. I’m not letting you get any ice after that show you up. No, even better, I’m not sure how the fuck you’re still wearing that C.” He pauses. “Get hell out of my face, for god sakes.”

The locker room is soundless but Sidney doesn’t know that, all he can hear is his heart beating on his ears. He looks like an animal, a string of blood coming down from his lip, his hands gathering whatever is his, and he walks away as fast as he can, ignoring the soft calls from Chris, who wants to check his face before he– he’s gone.

He doesn’t remember the drive home and he isn’t really sure how he manages to get there. 

The door closes loudly and he locks it behind himself. His phone is on his hand, telling him there are a hundred missed calls from everybody, a million texts pooling on his lock screen and more appearing quickly, ping after ping. There’s something bubbling inside him, it tastes acidic and burnt and bloody and at the same time _rancid,_ and he throws his phone against the wall.

He throws it over and over again, until the pings stops and it shatters a framed picture, both of them falling to the floor.

Looking down at the mess and, as his eyes focus on the picture, Sidney feels scared.

Really, really scared _of_ himself.

He doesn’t know what’s happening to him, what’s he’s feeling, he doesn’t really know what’s going on inside his own mind –there’s a mixture of sentiments, of emotions that he can’t distinguish or put name to, and he feels dizzy. He presses his back against the wall, taking short and shallow breaths and he wonders how his chest feels like it’s collapsing into itself. Was he shaking like this before?

Sidney wants to make himself cry, thinking that it would make him feel better, right? Because that’s what they say, right? Why can’t he breathe?

By the time he’s calm, the sun is already coming up. It’s the sound of something outside what pulls him out of his thoughts.

He blinks owlishly, not recognizing where he is. Then, his eyes land on the photo on the floor, glass shattered around it: it’s a team photo, from sometime before they won their first Cup. Geno is obviously there, standing next to him with his arm wrapped around Sidney’s shoulder and the biggest and brightest smile on his face. They are so young, so naive of their success in their lives, in their careers, in love–

Sidney looks around the hallway, thinking that this house isn’t a home anymore.

There’s someone missing.

 

-

 

He takes the longest shower in his life without realizing it.

The busted lip is enough to distract him, enough to lose the feeling of his own skin as the water turns slowly from burning hot to freezing cold. It’s when his body starts to shiver when he notices his surroundings. On his way out, he catches his reflection on the mirror and, besides the lip, there is a knuckle shaped bruise decorating his cheek, and it looks a little swollen. His eyes look sunken and darker and he has to blink a few times to realize that, yes, that’s him.

Sidney should go to the kitchen, eat something, ice his face, buy a new phone, answer calls and mail and texts and–

Sidney doesn’t do anything of that. He doesn’t get up from bed unless he needs it. His own body is betraying him and it feels like lead. Or is his mind playing tricks on him? Either way, neither of them are cooperating with him. So he stays in bed, sleeping or just staring at nothing in particular.

He’s lost and it’s his head that gets caught in a loop of memories.

Whenever he wakes up, he finds himself patting the other side of the bed to find it cold, as it has been for the past couple of months.

Sidney searches for the memory, deep down in his brain, of waking up on an empty bed but with something telling him that he’s at home. The sound of the shower running, or the smell of coffee hitting his nose, or the quiet Russian talk coming from the other bedroom, of Geno in the morning. He says he hates waking up early and he _really_ does hates it, but when Geno does, he doesn’t stay in bed and just goes with his day. Unless.

Unless it’s Sidney the first one to wake up.

He’s not sure if he dreams it but, suddenly, Geno is sleeping next to him, soft snores coming out of his mouth. He’s warm, he has always been like that, and Sidney likes to press himself against him, skin against skin. It will always be something that wakes up Geno, who will start to complain because Sidney’s fingertips are cold and resting onto his stomach. But, when Sidney looks up at him sleepily, Geno’s expression softens.

It’s not always like that, maybe both of them sleeping on their respective sides to catch on their sleep, or barely touching when it comes to their pre-game naps, or just not sleeping in the same bed at all, not even in the same house.

Yet, there are morning it feels they have all the time in the world, were time passes slowly and easy.  He remembers Geno’s fingers tracing down patters on his sides, fingers thumbing on his hipbones and moving slowly towards his navel. Geno kisses him before he pulls away, only to close his eyes and brush his nose against Sidney’s, their mouth open letting out sighs and moans.

He can’t bring back into his mind how Geno’s lips felt on his –he, he just doesn’t remember.

The closest memory to it is the times Geno would put his hands on Sidney’s cheeks, fingertips brushing his hair, before pulling him in for a kiss. It was always careful and not in an afraid of breaking, but an appreciative and tenderly kind of way. They are usually on the car when he does it, dark and tinted windows and tall cars hiding them.

Geno drove him a lot to the arena. In fact, he drove him around a lot. Even when he has the reputation of driving recklessly sometimes, Geno drives a little more careful when Sidney’s with him. Sidney never asked him to do it, he just… does it.

He recalls this time they drove around town, without destination. There’s snow, the night is deep, and both of them should be sleeping but Sidney can’t and Geno offered to drive him around. He curls on the passage seat, feeling cozy since the calefaction is on. Geno asks Sidney if he’s falling asleep, his hand brushing Sidney’s hair lovingly. Before Sidney’s brain can catch up, Geno is talking in Russia under his breath, almost becoming a hum, and that’s enough to pull him into a tender sleep.

There are Russian words echoing on his ears when blinks, because his eyes are open and he’s on his room and there’s grey all around.

It’s the pitter patter of the rain against his bedroom window. It’s raining.

He isn’t sure how much time he has lost but he doesn’t really care.

After a trip to the bathroom, he finds himself wandering around the living room, noticing things that aren’t his: books in Cyrillic, photos that weren’t there before, things that are in places Sidney would never leave them. Everything is marked with Geno and Sidney feels numb, again.

His crouching over the picture and the phone without realizing he’s doing it. After observing it for a while, he sees a white piece of paper pocking out of his case, unperturbed. Sidney observes it for a moment before grabbing it. When he remembers what it is, something inside him snaps.

It doesn’t take him more than five minutes to gather a bag with clothes, shove a water bottle into it, and grab his car keys.

Sidney takes a deep breath before starting the car, entering Alex’s address on his phone.

After it has located it, he pulls from the driveway wondering if he can survive a four hour drive in his state.

 

-

 

Of all the things Alex expects on a rainy afternoon, Sidney Crosby isn’t one of them.

It doesn’t really take him off guard, but what does it’s that Sidney is looking worse than Alex could have ever imagined. It’s not because he’s drenched, dripping on the _welcome_ mat his mother insisted in buying, but it’s something on his face. His eyes are a little too wide, too hazy for Alex’s taste. Also, he has a bruise blossoming on his cheek and part of his lip is darker than the rest.

Their eyes meet and Sidney opens his mouth, as if he was ready to say something.

Nothing comes out and after two difficult breathes, Alex observes the tears spilling from Sidney’s eyes. Even when he knows that at this point it doesn’t matter, Sidney still tries to suppress the feeling and Alex wonders if he does it more out of instinct than consciously.

Alex reads him easily and he presses his hands on Sidney’s arms, looking at his eyes as if he was asking for permission. Sidney knows what he’s asking and something about the way Alex does it makes Sidney break. He walks forward, pressing himself against Alex, who just pulls him into a firm and warm hug. He realizes, as he’s running his hand up and down Sidney’s shaking back, that the younger man has been repressing everything for _months._

Having bottled it up has made Sidney cry in such a painful way, so raw with emotion, that it makes Alex feel lightheaded. He doesn’t say anything though, he just holds Sidney there on his arms.

He doesn’t really care if his shirt is getting wet.

When Sidney starts to shake from the cold, Alex knows he should pull him away and into the house, so he does. After moving him inside and closing the door behind them, his eyes fall on Sidney: he looks wrecked and Alex just wants to be tender with the younger man. His hands push Sidney’s wet hair out of his face and his hands fall on Sidney’s cold cheeks.

“Oh, _zvezda,_ it took you long.” Alex mumbles. “Let’s go, you should take shower.” Sidney only takes a shaky breathe and nods, and Alex think he looks like a small kid, afraid and lost. He doesn’t take Sidney’s hand but he’s really close on doing it.

Alex guides Sidney to the bathroom and makes a quick detour to his closet, finding something comfortable for Sidney to wear. Yes, he knows that Sidney’s car probably has a bag of clothes inside it but he doesn’t really want to go out and get even wetter –the downpour just keeps picking up and Alex curses on why the fuck Sidney thought it was a good idea driving in this rain. “Here,” he presses the clothes to Sidney’s hands. After that, he leaves and walks downstairs after he hears the water hit the floor through the half-open door.

His phone beeps and he remembers he has plans with Nicky for that afternoon. _Don’t come,_ it’s what he sends to him. _Rain check._

_Something’s wrong?_ It’s the quick response. Alex just texts back that Sidney appeared on his door. _Finally, text me if you need anything._

Alex walks around the ground floor, not really knowing what to do with himself, and his dogs look at him with confused expressions –Alex isn’t even sure if they have expressions but he knows they are just as restless as he is. Bertha follows him back and forth, tracing his steps.

Sidney is sitting on the closed toilet wearing Alex clothes when the Russian returns to check on him. He’s looking at the void, his fingers playing mindlessly with the fabric at the end of the long sleeve. It’s a strange sight.

Alex presses a towel to Sidney’s wet hair.  Sidney just looks up in silence, eyes focusing on him. They don’t say anything to each other, so Sidney grabs the towel and dries his hair or something close to it.

After that, it takes Alex insisting over and over again for Sidney to eat something.

“Thank you,” Sidney says, sitting at the kitchen bar. Those are the first words he has said since he came into the house. Alex observes him in silence, looks down at the plate where his mother’s special broth was and the cup that was filled with tea. He brushes the bread crumbs from the counter and looks back at Sidney. He seems ten times smaller than he actually is, the clothes hang a little to saggy even on his muscular body, but the soft blush on his cheeks makes him look more alive.

Alex shakes his head, before starting to pick up the dirty dishes. “No problem.”

They don’t talk, mostly because Alex feels it hurts Sidney to even form words. He’s too wrapped around his own thoughts to even notice the dogs walking around him and sniffing his legs, probably wondering who’s this human who smells like Alex that’s not Nicky.

It’s Ovi the one who pulls Sidney back to reality. He stands with his paws on Sidney’s leg and it takes Sidney a moment to look at him, but his expression softens. “Hey,” he greets him and his hand brushes his fur. Ovi just looks happy to get someone’s attention. “What’s his name?”

Alex, who’s leaning on the counter, stands on his tiptoes to see who it is. “Ovi,” he answers.

Sidney snorts and a gentle smile blooms on his face. “Really?”

Alex smiles back, mostly because it’s nice to see Sidney smiling. “Yeah, I did. My dog, I call whatever I want.”

They hang around through the rest of the day. Both of them put the bedding on the guest bed, mostly in silence, and after that, Sidney sits on it, looking at his surroundings. Alex looks at his Capitals bag pressed in the corner of the room, right where he hid angrily it after the regular season, knowing that they hadn’t made it to the playoffs. He wonders if he should have hidden it.

“I didn’t call,” Sidney says, as if he just realized that now.  “I, I should have–”

“It’s okay, I give you direction for something,” Alex answers back as he sits down beside Sidney, who is Canadian and he knows those are very polite, so actually it’s strange he didn’t call before coming. “Why you didn’t call?”

Sidney frowns as if he was remembering. “Oh,” he mumbles. “I broke my phone.”

“I see,” Alex hums in reply but doesn’t ask any more questions. He looks out of the window and night has already fallen. It’s quiet, the rain hasn’t quiet stopped and has become a light drizzle. “You tired?” Sidney nods slowly. “Okay, I leave you to sleep.”

Alex gets up from the bed after giving out each other awkward goodnights.

After he goes around the ground floor, finding something to eat, getting Sidney’s bag from his car, feeding the dogs and replying some of the texts from the Capitals message group –some photo war that’s been going on between Jojo and Tom to find out who can get the cutest picture of Andre–, Alex makes his way to bed.

He opens the guest room door quietly so he can leave the bag there, and listens to Sidney’s deep breathing.

Good.

The next morning is almost the same, only with the difference that both of them talk a little more than the night before. They eat breakfast and lunch together, they watch TV together and they play with the dogs inside the house because Alex isn’t dumb and he’s not going to let them get dirty with the mud outside.

Most of the time, Alex finds himself observing Sidney silently and, most of the time, Sidney is looking at nothing in particular besides his own memories. When that happens, Alex presses a hand on Sidney’s arm and, just as if he snapped out, Sidney would look at him before shooting an almost-not-there smile. It’s a little worrying.

When the afternoon falls, Alex asks Sidney if he wants to go out for a walk. Sidney thinks about it, as if he’s weighting all the possibilities of what could happen if he puts a feet outside the house. Alex, of course, reads him. “Just around neighborhood, it’s safe.”

He sounds sure, mostly because he is, so Sidney believes him.

They walk around, looking at the dressed green trees and listening to their own footsteps on the asphalt. In all seriousness, Alex has no intention in having a deep talking at the moment because he knows Sidney still needs time to settle down. Either way, it seems like that time is now.

“I didn’t talk to anyone,” Sidney starts, the first words he has said in a while. “I mean, before coming here, or at all.”

Alex hums. “Talking to people is something humans do,” he says because he wants to have time to get home and have this conversation. “People worry and care about you, Sid.”

“I know,” Sidney replies in a painful way, before blinking up at the tall trees, sky yellow and orange. “I fought with Flower before coming in. Our goalie, you know? He’s my best friend,” he gulps the last word as if he wasn’t sure of it.

“You fight?” Alex asks, turning to frown at him.  Sidney snorts, upset at himself.

“Wasn’t my brightest moment.” They are close to the house so Alex doesn’t answer, busying himself with the keys.

As they walk through the door, Alex asks. “So, this is first time you cry since the funeral?”

It takes Sidney off guard and freezes as he’s taking off his jacket. The dogs are walking around them while they just stand, looking at each other. “Uh, yeah,” he admits, voice raw, and lets the jacket hang on the back of a chair. “I, I have a team to take care of.”

“Not only team,” Alex comments and he leaves the keys and his phone on some table at the entrance. “Have to take care of you, too.”

Sidney doesn’t answer. They make their way through the house and Sidney stops when Alex sits down at the living room, eyes fixed on him. So, in response, he sits down. Ovi jumps on the couch and Alex is ready to shush him away, words in his mother language hanging from his mouth, when he lays next to Sidney and rest his head on his lap. They share another look and Sidney just buries his hands on the dark fur.

“You don’t want to believe what happen,” Alex affirms, not needing his confirmation to know it’s the truth. “Maybe trying to deny reality.”

Sidney blinks a few times, looking down at Ovi. “I just. I don’t want him to, he’s, _fuck,”_ he mumbles under his breath before clearing his throat and starting again. “There are many things I promised him, that, that we promised each and, and-”

Sidney’s words just fall and Alex doesn’t have the intention to interrupt him, so they sit in silence for a moment.

“I can’t help it,” he shrugs and Alex sees some tears forming on his eyes. “I just think like, I’d do anything to have him back. Just for a moment. To tell.” Sidney swallows. “To tell him things I didn’t before. Do everything I didn’t dare.” Sidney is silent and he just lets his head rest against the couch, looking at the ceiling.

Alex looks at him before he sits back, humming. “Tell him you love him?”

The shaky breathe Sidney lets out says enough, and even when Alex is not expecting for an answer, he gets one. “Yeah,” he confesses. “I always thought I’ll tell him later, why rush it?” He chuckles sadly and Alex catches anger lying beneath the words. “I don’t even know if he ever loved me back.” Sidney now expects an answer that doesn’t come, Alex silent next to him. He shifts on his seat and with the back of the hand he cleans the tears from his cheeks. “I should-”

“You ask why I help,” Alex starts, in the same manner he does as if the previous conversation didn’t happen. “Things happen sometimes; I get scared and hide from people I love. Zhenya was good listener. Very patient when I get drunk, start talking about problems.” He pauses, searching for words. “We share secrets. Things we keep from Russia.”

Sidney’s eyebrows rise. “Oh, I didn’t know-”

“Sid,” he interrupts him again. “He loved you.”

Blinking furiously doesn’t help and Sidney just looks down at Ovi, again, lips marked into a thin line and cheeks starting to get a red tone.

“The way he see you, the way he talk about you is enough to say. Zhenya always talked about you, even when I didn’t want to hear,” and the last part gets Alex a small chuckle from Sidney. “He adored you.”

Sidney exhales before he shrugs. “And what now? I can’t really go and tell him I love him.”

“Getting lost in memories is not good, Sid,” Alex sighs and sits down sideways, his shoulder against the couch. “No point in regretting things now.”

“I know but,” Sidney’s expression changes into frustration. He takes a deep breath and looks at Alex. “How can you just, not think about it? Regret it?” Alex shift on his seat and that disturbs Ovi, who lets out a soft huff. They share looks but his dog closes his eyes when Sidney starts petting him again.

“You’re in pain because you love Zhenya. That is part of you. You see, Sid, love changes, takes long time sometimes. Maybe you regret whole life, maybe will feel different with time. You now learn to love Zhenya in different way, but still love.”  Sidney sniffs at his side.  “Don’t mean you forget, and I’m not either, but helps ease things, move on. Catch up with reality.”

“I’ll never have him back,” Sidney whispers, almost to himself. “I miss him.”

Alex feels the wetness on his own eyes. “I know, I know. I miss him, too.” Alex pulls Sidney in to an awkwardly shaped hug, but neither of them complains, and Sidney just presses his face against Alex’s shoulder. Both of them are crying into each other’s arms.

It’s strange but comfortable and everything they need.

When Sidney talks again, they are sitting knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder, both of their backs against the couch. “So, what now?” He asks and turns slightly to look at Alex.

Alex shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“I thought you were full of advice tonight,” Sidney chirps without even thinking and Alex is laughs softly.

“I don’t know, Sid. Time, I guess. Find professional help. Start to make things good again” and it’s another answer that has some heaviness to it, every word telling Sidney that there’s some experience behind. He doesn’t want to ask, so he just nods. They don’t move from the couch until Alex’s phone starts to ring, an incoming call that makes him excuse himself away from the living room. Sidney stays there, with a now wide awake Ovi jumping down from the couch and a Gera sniffing his knees.

When Alex returns, he says they should eat something before going to sleep. He insists like a Russian mother when Sidney says he’s not hungry. It’s a similar scene in the kitchen from yesterday when Sidney thanks Alex, again. “I mean it,” he adds, because he really does. His chest doesn’t feel that heavy anymore and his heads feels somewhat clearer –it’s not the perfect situation but it’s a good start.

Alex shakes his head, before starting to pick up the dirty dishes. This time he has a smile on his face. “No problem, z _vezda_.”

“Don’t call me that,” he frowns but that smile and his expressions say different.

“My house, I call whatever I want,” Alex shoots him a toothy smile and Sidney feels warmth on his chest.

“Well, it’s a Russian household,” Sidney says as he looks around. “Then I call you Sasha.”

Alex makes an exaggerated pensive face before nodding. “Yes, very good.”

Both of them sleep soundly through the night for, what it feels, the first time in forever.

 

-

 

Having Sidney around is somewhat nice.

He’s certainly not the perfect guest because his dogs love him more than Alex, but he can forgive him that. Either way, they settle into a slow routine of nothingness, enjoying silence together with some chirps here and more heart to heart talks there. It’s nice.

In Alex eyes, Sidney looks better than when he first stumbled into the house. There are still moments throughout the day where he would find him sitting down thinking, his expression sad and mournful, but he’s more aware of the things happening around him. There have been more tears, from both sides, and once it was from laughing: a drunk in vodka Sidney was way more fun than a sober Sidney, even when he was more erratic.

Also, there might have been hands meeting skin and lips meeting moans but they don’t talk about it.

One day, Nicky appears while they are having a late morning breakfast. He’s carrying a few plastic bags on his hand and puts them on the counter, not saying anything. Alex wants to laugh at Sidney’s deer in headlights expression but he actually froze when he heard the door open and hasn’t really moved since.  “I asked Nicky to bring stuff,” he says and Sidney just nods.

Nicky takes a bottle of water from the fridge and stands next to Alex, shoulders brushing.

“Hi,” Nicky greets them, or greets Sidney, really. “How are you feeling?”

Sidney seems taken aback so he struggles to find words. “Good. Uhm, better, yeah.”

Alex snorts, and then pushes the Swedish lightly with his shoulder. “Sidney Crosby not so good at everything. Bad at words.”

“Shut up,” Sidney replies back and Nicky just rolls his eyes before taking a swig of his water. Alex walks around the living room searching for his phone and listens to the short but sweet conversation Nicky and Sidney are having in the kitchen. It’s a little bizarre but he shrugs the feeling easily.

He returns with a screen open on his phone.

“Here, _zvezda_.” Alex says as he presses his phone into Sidney’s hand. “We’ll be outside.” Sidney blinks at the phone, then at Alex, before he catches what’s showing on the screen: it’s the contact application, and the name Marc-Andre Fleury is glaring back at him.

There must be confusion on his face, because Nicky explains to him. “Brooksy had it.” Sidney nods and stares at the phone, Cyrillic that he doesn’t understand besides the painfully obvious call button. Part of him wants him to give the phone back, saying that he really can’t do it, but Alex is already making his way out of the back door, Nicky following behind.

So, he guesses he should do it. Make things right, one step at the time.

There are a few short beeps before Flower answers. “Yes?”

“Flower, hi,” Sidney replies and shifts on his seat when he only hears silence on the other end of the line. “Hello?”

“Oh god, _Sidney_ ,” Flower replies, and there’s anxiety and relief and everything in between coloring his voice. He babbles quickly in french and Sidney has to stop him because he doesn’t really understand. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m sorry, I really am.” Sidney says, before he needs to let out before he answers any questions. “Flower-”

Flower interrupts him, almost exasperated. “No, listen, we can apologize after you tell me how you are.”

Sidney sighs. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you,” it’s the quick reply.

“Okay, maybe I’m not totally fine,” it’s what he really means. “But I’m better.”

There’s another pause before Flower speaks again. “Alright. You just,” he lets out a puff of hair and Sidney can picture him with his hand on his forehead, his hair going back. “You worried us. We went to check on you after we got back from the roadie and you weren’t in your house, and then your _mother_ , Sidney, your mother called me! And then-”

“My mom called you?” Sidney questions, frowning.

“She said you weren’t answering her calls.”

“Uhm, yeah. My phone broke.”

“Yeah? No shit,” Flower curses over the line. “Your phone and your wall were destroyed, and _you?_ Nowhere to be seen.”

Sidney replies with an “I’m fine” because he doesn’t really know what else to say.

Flower stays quiet for a moment and, after some shushed talks away from the phone that sound french, he asks slowly. “Sidney, where are you? Do you need any of us to pick you up? Because, you know, I wouldn’t be upset if you asked me.”

Before Flower keeps talking, he replies. “No, it’s alright.”

Sidney looks around and, through the glass door to the back, his eyes fall on Alex sitting down on one of the chairs with Nicky standing in front of him. He seems to be talking about something, about someone because there’s a look of fondness on his– oh. Sidney realizes that both of them look as loopy as he felt whenever he observed Geno, with his heart racing because, well, how he could have gotten so lucky? Alex’s eyes don’t move away from Nicky, looking up and down. He has his hand on his cheek, his elbow sitting on the armrest, and his fingers hide a half smile that’s very obvious on his face.

Is strange and almost bizarre seeing Nicky with such a soft expression on his face, when all Sidney knew about him was his coldness on the ice, and his seriousness even when he scored goals.

He wonders if Alex didn’t really need any groceries, because he could easily get someone from the store to bring them, those house delivery services Sidney uses way too often. Sidney smiles when Nicky says something that makes Alex laugh because, of course.

Alex just wanted to see Nicky. “Of course.”

“What?” He’s at the phone with Flower, right.

“Uh, nothing,” Sidney replies back. “I’m, I’m in Washington.”

Flower makes a noise that Sidney isn’t sure if he’s chocking on his own spit. “In Washington? Why?”

“I’m staying with Alex. He gave me his direction when he came for the funeral.”

There’s a pause, as if he’s trying to figure out who’s he talking about. “In Washington with Ovechkin?” Flower’s voice goes into a ridiculous pitch and Sidney snorts. He also sounds a little hurt.

“I know, it sounds ridiculous.” He pauses and Sidney has to swallow before letting the words out. “He’s been so much help, you know? We both lost, uhm. We both lost him. And I know what you are going to say, that you lost him, too, I know.” He has to pause again, to clear his throat because he can feel the shakiness of his voice and the tears pricking his eyes. “We all did. It’s just, both of us lost more than just a friend.”

Flower doesn’t say anything and Sidney checks if the call is still running. He’s not wearing his heart for nothing. “Sid-”

“No, look. I’m sorry for pushing you all away, for treating you the way I did,” and maybe he’s can feel the tears rolling down his face but he needs to get his apology out. “I, I didn’t want to accept he was gone. I soldiered on and kept a straight face for you guys, for myself. It just took me a while to realize I was hurting you and me, all at the same time. So, I’m sorry. I’m very sorry for everything.”

There’s nothing on the line until Sidney sniffs. “Are you crying?”

He laughs, because yes, he’s crying. “Maybe,” he says as he brushes away the tears from his face.

“Sidney,” Flower says tenderly, this voice breaking, and then he sniffs on the other side of the line.

“Why are _you_ crying?” And it’s a serious question, because he didn’t think his spiel was enough to make Flower cry.

“I, I mean. It seemed like that, you know? That you were repressing it all for out sake. You were there for us, tried you best to comfort and cheer us when we needed it. But you were so distant and never cried and that worry the fuck out of us–” He stops and exhales. Sidney has his heart on his throat and he doesn’t do anything but listen. “On your drought, uh. After every game we lost, we expected you to talk to us, tell us what was happening on your head. I don’t know, for you to break down. We were prepared for anything.”

“Flower-”

“We were expecting for you  to reach us and you never did.”

Sidney notices some of his tears falling onto the counter and he brushes them away. “I was too wrapped up in my head, Flower. I didn’t, I didn’t even notice the team until now that I think about it and. Fuck,” he chuckles sadly. “It’s my fault the team fell apart, I made things worse trying to help.”

“I mean,” Flower says slowly. “I’m a little hurt you’re with Ovi instead of being with us, but, Sidney. We lost Geno, _you_ lost Geno. Of all people, _him._ ” Sidney’s fingers brushes his cheek, right where Flower left a bruise. “It’s a tough loss. Maybe he knows things we don’t, maybe we couldn’t have helped you in the first place.”

“Yeah but still. I own the guys an apology,” he says. “I’m also sorry about our fight, I can’t believe I punched you.”

Flower snorts. “No, it should be me the one who should apologize. I didn’t approach you in the best way, and the things I said? They weren’t really the greatest. I’m sorry.”

“No, they weren’t the nicest,” Sidney affirms. “We make mistakes. I know you don’t mean them.”

“I don’t.”

“Good,” and that’s that.

“I thought you couldn’t fight,” Flower says. “But you gave me quite a bruise.”

Sidney lets out a gentle laugh. “Really? You kind of did, too. Was Vero upset?”

“Not really,” Flower replies between sniffs and giggles. “She asked me what I had done, you should have seen her face when I told her I fought you. I think she wanted to fight me, Sid!”

“You weren’t the nicest of friends,” Sidney replies.

“I wasn’t,” and it’s an answer that’s quiet uncomfortable, heavy with truth.

“Flower, hey,” he starts. “You’re a great friend.”

Sidney almost forgets he’s in Washington until Alex enters again through the back door, his hand resting on the small of Nicky’s back. He shifts on his seat and just clears his cheeks, blush appearing on them. Alex doesn’t say anything as he walks to the entrance, but there’s a smirk forming on his face.

Flower’s voice crackles on the phone again. “When are you returning?”

“I don’t know,” he answers when he really wants to say tomorrow. “I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Don’t disappear again, please,” Flower pleads. “Is this Ovechkin’s number?”

“Yes, he got yours from Brooksy.”

“Of course he did,” he huffs. “I’ll tell everyone else you’re alright. Call your mother.”

“ _Ouis, maman,”_ he says in an awful accent, making Flower laugh. It’s a sweet noise and Sidney lets the words slip out of his mouth. “I love you, Flower. Thank you.”

Flower sniffs again. “I haven’t cried this much since my wedding, Sidney. Vero is going to get jealous.” Sidney’s only response was a quiet laugh. “I love you, too. Take care of yourself. We’ll talk later.”

“Yes, bye,” and with that, he hangs up and leans against the back of the chair. Alex returns and starts taking the things out of the bags, as if nothing ever happened. Sidney has his eyes fixed on him, and it doesn’t take long before Alex’s blue ones find them as he turns around to hand him a bottle of water.

“Good talk?” He asks, and they trade things as Sidney takes the bottle and gives him his phone back.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Looks like you had a good one, too,” and he takes a swig of the bottle just to hide the smile on his face.

Alex stops what he’s doing and leans back on the counter, cereal box on his hand. There’s a smile on his face and after looking hesitatingly, he talks. “Kolya is my winger,” he starts. “On ice, off ice, always there. He’s one of best things in life.”

“That’s what you’re keeping from Russia,” Sidney mumbles, and just imagining all the consequences feels a little sickening.

Alex nods and shrugs. “It’s okay. Kolya is worth that and even more.” Sidney nods back, asking himself if Geno would have done such a sacrifice just for them. It must be written on his face because Alex reads him, easily and without a problem, as he has been doing for the past days. “You’re worth it, too, _zvezda_.”  Sidney smiles at him, bittersweet.

After they put everything away, they sit down on Alex’s couch watching some movie, his dogs spread around them.

For the first time in months, Sidney feels a little more like himself.

 

-

 

Sidney stands at the front door, feeling uncomfortable.

Of all the things that happened between them in the past few days, saying goodbye is the weirdest thing so far.

He kneels down, his hands caressing the fur of Alex’s dogs, whispering things to them before Alex appears on the doorstep. He hands him the jacket he had forgotten on the entrance. Sidney gets up and puts it on, even when it’s not that cold. In fact, it’s not cold at all and he isn’t sure why he put it on.  Maybe he does it to search some comfort over his shoulders but he’s probably looking too much into it.

“So, time to go, _zvezda_?” He asks, nodding at the car keys on his hand.

“What does that mean?” Sidney asks back, ignoring the real question.

Alex puffs and smiles. “Star,” he answers softly. “Seem fitting.” Sidney tries to hold a smile but the corner of his lips betray him and his cheeks go a little pink. In that moment, with Alex standing in front of him, in the front porch of this house, he wonders if they will keep being like this. He wonders because he’s basically stepping back into the biggest rivals in the league narrative and Sidney, he doesn’t really want that.

“Are you going to keep calling me that after this?” The question comes out a little too dramatic and by Alex’s expression, Sidney starts again. “I mean. Are we going back to before? To the _we both hate each other_ and that kind of stuff.”

“You want me to hate you?” Alex asks.

“What? No,” Sidney frowns. “After this, I want to be there for you, when things happen. And not only bad ones, you know? Good ones, too. I’m not Geno but I’m a good listener.” He smiles and shrugs.

Alex looks down at his dogs, his hands on his waist and a smile blossoms on his face. “Okay. We’re best friends now,” he says but Sidney’s face twist into something and Alex rolls his eyes. “Okay, friends. You’re most picky, Sidney Crosby.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Maybe friends but I still beat you on the ice,” he says with honesty and that makes Sidney laugh.

“Of course, I wouldn’t expect but the best from you.” They look at each other and, just like that afternoon, Alex presses his hands on Sidney’s arms. He walks forward and presses himself against Alex, both of them hugging each other tightly. Sidney presses his face against Alex’s shoulder, his nose pressing softly on Alex’s skin, and the older man just hums.

“You safe to drive?” Alex asks as they pull away and Sidney just nods. As he walks down the first steps, Alex stops him. “One thing,” he says. “One of us wins Cup for Zhenya, promise?”

Sidney smiles at him and nods, heart beating fast. “It will be my team, of course.”

“I’m think that’s not so friendly, zvezda,” he says, steals quick and chaste kiss and lets Sidney walk to his car, shaking his head but with a smile on his face.

A few minutes later, he’s driving away from the house and on his way home.

 

-

 

It takes him only a few hours to gather his things, gather himself, and fly up north.

On the flight to Halifax, his mind is running and he’s doing a mental list of things he should do in the next few days: who he’s going to talk to, what he’s going to say, what he’s going do to. By the time he realizes, his flight is landing and he can see the city from the window.

His parents receive him at their home in Cole Harbor with summer warm smiles but worried lines drawing on their faces. His mom hugs him and presses sweet kisses into his cheeks. She’s nagging him already about his disappearance –“it was hardly that, mom”–, not answering her calls, making her and everybody worry. He only apologizes and his words are colored with truth. 

His dad does the same, just calmer. He pulls him into a quick hug and pats his back, asking him if he’s alright and then saying something Sidney’s ears don’t register so he just listens to the rumble of his voice.

They try to make conversation but Sidney knows it’s the first time they have seen each other since Geno died. They are making painfully obvious. Sidney has to interrupt his mom when she starts to detour the conversation from that topic.

“Mom, it’s fine,” he admits. “Geno is dead, you can say it.” Maybe he’s not really used to the words, to the idea, to the reality that Geno’s dead and that he’s never going to see him again, never going to talk to him again, never going to say– “His death mess up a little bit but, uhm. What can you do?” He shrugs and shuts up because the shakiness on his voice is noticeable. His dad is sitting in front of him and he just looks thoughtful. His mom, in the other hand, is standing beside him and caressing his hair, just like she used to do when he was younger.

They don’t talk about it because it’s not something they do, yet there’s something in the air that shifts and Sidney doesn’t feel the gloominess anymore.

Deciding to stay a few more minutes seem worth it when he hears a car park outside, a door opening and closing and quick footsteps making their way to the house. Sidney stands up as the front door swings open and the blur that’s his sister is now hugging him, arms around his neck and feet barely touching the floor. He wobbles on his feet but manages to keep his equilibrium, and he returns the hug.

“Hey Taylor,” he greets her.

When they pull away, Taylor has tears hanging on the corner of her eyes. “How are you? Are you okay? You say you’d always answer my texts.”

“He didn’t call back either,” his dad adds from behind.

Ah, yeah, he kind of forgot to mention the phone incident but he thinks it’s better if it stays that way. “I didn’t really answer to anyone, really,” Sidney says and he presses a kiss on Taylor’s forehead and she just lets him. “I’m fine. I’m here.” In return, Taylor hugs him again and he just lets her.

The days pass slowly, mostly because he avoids people that aren’t his own family or the people he trains with. He does keep in touch with Flower, who keeps checking on him while sending him pictures of his summer with the girls, Sidney sends his fair share of replies on the team group to make them know he’s still alive, and he doesn’t send any messages to Alex, who keeps sending him pictures of Russia and things he can’t really understand.

It’s slow but really calming. He sinks himself into his thoughts, not to lose himself as he used to, but to form a path. Sidney walks over memories he thought forgotten and memories that he will never forget, over and over again. Geno is a constant in them and Sidney tries to store the little memories of things that made Geno, well, _Geno_.

The way he smiled, all big and goofy, the way he hugged and kissed, how he used to hold Sidney in his arms, how he used to rest his chin on his shoulder and press their cheeks together. And even hidden between them, Sidney remembers the way his eyes would be before the puck drop, how his cheek got red when he got upset, and how his voice trembled after a big loss.

He’ll miss seeing that tucked seventy one flying across the ice.

Sidney wants to do things right, so when he starts training, he gives everything he has.

He runs fast, he moves quickly, and he pushes and pulls hard, pressing himself. Andy stops him more than a few times and it’s not because he’s afraid Sidney is overworking himself, but because he’s a little too shocked at his willingness and motivation. Nate doesn’t fall far behind but he acts cool about it, even when Sidney can see him mouthing _what the fuck_ to Andy from the other side of the field.

Taylor stays a few days before he returns to Pittsburgh.

They don’t talk it over because that’s the Crosby way, he guesses, and she just appears on his house for breakfast, bag already lying in her bedroom. They have a nice time together, annoying and chirping each other like siblings do. They catch up about each other’s life in the way you can’t really do on the phone or through texts. When he talks about Geno, she blinks a lot and her lips press together but she doesn’t say anything.

Sidney feels he’s looking in a mirror.

They don’t have a heart to heart like he had to with Alex. Instead, both of them find themselves unable to sleep one night and decide to lie down on their backs at the end of the dock, their feet hanging over, looking at the stars. The summer breeze feels good against their skin and the quietness is something they don’t find on their usual lives.

Right there, they start to share memories.

Taylor tells her about the times when Geno would wake up in the morning all grumpy and find her already in the kitchen, how he would mumble about Crosbys. “Even when you aren’t the best morning person yourself,” she laughs. Geno would tell her to speak slowly or to repeat herself, because it was always too early. He would stop her because he actually wanted to understand what she was saying.

“He told me once he didn’t understand you either,” Sidney confesses and Taylor lets out a sigh. “We’re siblings, it’s on the blood.”

Sidney tells her about how excited Geno would get when her visit was soon, because _she’s best Crosby, Sid._ It was annoying sometimes how both of them would team up against him, how they would banter, all just to make each other laugh. “Yeah, that was something. It was pretty awesome.”

He pulls a face. “No, it wasn’t.”

“It was,” she says again.

“Yeah, it was,” and there is weight on his words, something that makes Taylor search for his hand without looking. They haven’t hold hands in a long time, probably since she was little. It felt a little foreign but the touch is comforting and grounding at the same time. “I miss him.”

“Me too,” she sniffs and Sidney doesn’t really expect the laugh she lets out seconds later. “I’m sorry. I’m thinking of that time G and I rearranged your house.”  Sidney sits quickly and looks at her open mouthed. His expression makes Taylor laugh even lauder, face scrunched up and hands on her stomach.

“I was upset at Flower and Tanger for weeks! I can’t believe it was you two, oh god, you’re the worst,” he declares as he lies down on his back again. “Was it your idea to hide my socks on the kitchen cupboards?” Sidney looks at her and she’s holding everything in, her cheeks bright pink. “I can’t believe it was him.”

Taylor lets out a puff of air, as if she was trying to catch her breath. “He was laughing when I found him, the socks kept falling on him.”

“I couldn’t even reach to take them all out,” and she laughs again.

They don’t stay long after that. They make their way into the house and into their respective bedrooms.

Sidney falls asleep easily.

 

-

 

Sidney stands at the airport looking at the board announcing the landings.

The year before he sat in front of one of the many boards, waiting for the New York flight to appear, the numbered flight Sidney had memorized over the years. The text on his phone would tell him either way, followed by eyeless smiles that Sidney would smile back, too.  So, now he stands there feeling out of place, not having to wait for him anymore.

When his eyes land on the New York flight, he shoulders his bag and leaves the airport.

Returning to the house is even stranger. He had been there weeks ago, only for a few hours: he got whatever he needed on the bag, picked up his phone from the floor, and checked everything around the house before leaving again.

Right now, the wall is still the same, battered and the picture with the broken glass is still lying on the floor. He looks at it and takes the photo out of the frame carefully. He leaves it on the entrance table, along with his keys, wallet, phone, whatever he had on his pockets as he came through the door.

Sidney cleans the glass from the floor in an almost ceremoniously way, with precision and without hurry. Throwing the glass and the frame on the trash in the kitchen leaves him thinking he should get a new frame and probably put it over the hole his phone cave on the wall.  Standing in the same spot he did that day, he thinks back and frowns at himself. That felt so long ago but it had only past a few short months.

He walks around the house, making rounds around the living room and the bedroom and the bathroom, and he observes what used to be a house of two: the two tooth brushes, things that aren’t in the same language, notes on the fridge with different handwriting, the clothes on the closet that aren’t his, and the sets of two in the washing machine.

Sidney feels the house empty even when it’s not.

His ears are ringing and he sits down in the living room couch, observing a book that’s not his and certainly isn’t Geno’s anymore.

If he loses a few minutes just thinking about the fact, that’s okay. It’s better than months ago; easy steps, one by one. He breathes deeply, fidgeting with the clock on his wrist. Sidney knows he should get up and get a shower because he has things to do and people to talk to.

So he does.

Nathalie is surprised when he appears on the front porch, sun going down already. Her expression is soft and Sidney remembers that they last time they saw each other, he wasn’t exactly on his best state. “It’s a good kind of surprise, of course,” she smiles. “You’re saying for dinner?”

“If I’m invited,” Sidney replies back and she shushes him, telling him he’s always invited. Nathalie is already on the kitchen, so he does whatever to help with it and that’s how Mario finds him, chopping vegetables. He also seems surprised and Sidney doesn’t time to wonder if it’s the good kind when Alexa walks behind him and greets him happily.

They dine together, the four of them, and it feels homely. It’s everything it wasn’t the last time. After that, Sidney helps Nathalie with the dishes and to put everything away, consciously slower, knowing that Mario is waiting him in his office. It’s Nathalie who pats his back and tells him he should settle things already.

He’s not sure why he’s nervous but he is, so he might as well get this done with.

Sidney sits down on one of the chairs in front of the desk as Mario leans against it. He’s way taller than Sidney and, now that he’s sitting down, he really feels like a child.

“You give out a _questionable_ performance,” he starts and Sidney winces at the selection of words, knowing that it was the _worst_ performance. “You fight one of your teammates, you leave without saying a word, ignoring all of your obligations, and we’ve- I’ve to know through Fleury that you’re in Washington with Alexander Ovechkin. Sidney,” he stops and sighs before his expression softens. He opens his mouth to add something else but Sidney interrupts him.

“I’m not sure why people make such a fuzz of me hanging out with Alex,” but Mario doesn’t say anything and that makes Sidney shift on the chair. “Look, I’m really sorry. It was a dumb decision, I wasn’t thinking straight, or if my actions had any consequences. I,” he clears his throat. “I disrespected my teammates, my team, my responsibility to them. I won’t take it personally if you want to suggest my demotion and–”

“ _Sidney_ ,” he calls exasperated, as if he expected this small rant from him. “I was worried. You did everything we never thought you would do, we thought the worst.” Sidney looks up at Mario and he isn’t sure what to say. He never wanted to worry people on the first place, but when everything became too much, he wasn’t really thinking of the repercussions.

Sidney nods. “I’m sorry. I’m–”

“Are you okay?” Mario asks and Sidney can hear the faint echoes of his father’s own voice.

“I’m better,” he answers. “I wasn’t dealing very well. But I’m better, I’ll get better.”

Mario’s eyebrows are raised. “Alright, do what it feels right. I’ll appreciate if you give us a heads up beforehand. We’re here for you, kid. You know that?” Sidney nods and, after some less tense exchanges, he’s making his way to the front door.

He thinks this was easier than he imagined.

So, when he stands in front of Sully’s office door the first day of training camp, he feels quite confident.

Sidney doesn’t feel like that when he’s standing in front of Sully himself because he’s a man that can intimidate anybody.

They start talking, asking each other formally how they are and how their summer was, and Sidney starts to apologize as soon as he gets a change, how sorry he was and explaining shortly how he had been feeling, and how he’s feeling right now, and how things wouldn’t repeat themselves. Sully stays in silence for a few seconds after Sidney’s done talking, and the soft expression on his face is something Sidney had never witness prior to this moment.

“Thank you for being honest, Sid. I think I should be honest, too.” Sidney doesn’t really know where this is going. “I owe you an apology,” and just like Sidney, he explains that he shouldn’t have said what he said or acted the way he did. Sully tells him he regrets it even more when now he knows what was happening through his head. It’s quite weird seeing Sully wear such a careful expression but Sidney appreciates it.

“It’s okay, coach,” Sidney says after the older man is done. “I guess we’re even.”

Sully nods, looking at his hands clasped in front of the desk as if he was thinking about something. “We have a psychologist on our staff.”

This time Sidney knows exactly where this is going. He hasn’t thought about it, not after Alex mentioned it months ago or now. He wants to blame his lack of time, he couldn’t do it between the season because of the things happening in his life, but that’s a weak excuse.

Sidney frowns at himself because, why is embarrassment surfacing on his chest? He shouldn’t be for asking help. “I’ll make an appointment for tomorrow,” he announces and Sully does that face, the one where he presses his lips together and nods slowly, as if he was saying that’s the right decision.

“Good. I think that’s it?” Sully says and leans backs on his chair before getting up.

“Uh, actually,” Sidney gets ups alongside him. “I owe the team an apology, too. Can I talk with them before we start?”

Sully nods again and the smile he shoots at Sidney tells him he’s somewhat proud of realizing his mistakes. “Anything you need.”

The team gathers in the same room where Mario delivered the news about Geno, and Sidney wonders how much time will pass until the walls aren’t painted with memories from that day. They guys are talking animatedly with each other and Sidney knows there are some people missing. He isn’t keeping up with the trades and he feels that’s a minus one point for him already.

When he comes in, everyone notices his entrance and no one moves. Sidney wouldn’t be lying if he said he felt a little awkward under his teammate’s eyes, all of them waiting for him to start talking.

The first words out of his mouth are an apology, he’s full of those today. This one is a little quiet but still sincere: he apologizes for his behavior, for that game, for any game in general, for his attitude, for leaving them when they needed him both on and off the ice, and more so for ignoring them throughout those months. He talks wearing his heart on his sleeve, he hates that vulnerable feeling but he lets himself do it because he needs to explain himself.

“So,” he ends, and his heart is racing and he can hear it on his ears. “I think– oh, yeah, Schultzy. I never congratulated you in getting the A. It looks pretty good on you. Yeah, I think that’s it” and he ends.

All of them are silently observing him and Sidney looks up to find some tears. 

Jake was the first one to stand up and Sidney thinks he’s going to walk out of the room. Instead, he walks with his hands in front of him, his palms towards his captain. “I’m not sure if I should do this because you’re you, but I feel like I need to so fuck it,” so he goes and pulls Sidney into a bone crushing hug that Sidney’s sure isn’t normal on a kid like Jake, hockey player and all. Sidney hugs back and, when the pull apart smiling at each other, everyone is surrounding him.

Tanger and Kuni pull him into an awkwardly shaped hug that Sidney returns quickly, whispering apologies that they shush down. He gets some other quick but hard hugs and pats, and some smiles that make him wonder how lucky he has gotten with this group of people. The veterans have that fatherly tenderness when they speak to him, asking truthfully concerned questions that he answers with sure smiles. Then he turns and Flower is the last waiting for a hug.

Sidney smiles. “Flower, hi,” and he doesn’t know why he feels like crying, but he does. Flower kind of has a similar expression on his.

“Oh, come here, you asshole.” Flower pulls him into hug that’s so different from all the others in so many ways.

It someone turns into a massive group hug with cheers and laughs, and Sidney,

Sidney feels at home.

It’s the next day when goes to talk to the last person he needs to.

“We’ll wait here, okay?” Sidney nods because he doesn’t really want to talk.

Flower does the same, shooting worried looks through the rearview mirror to Tanger, and turns off Sidney’s car. The jingle of the keys together sounds a lot loud in the small space. Sidney rests the bouquet of flowers on his lap before observing his hands: they aren’t shaking the way they did before but there’s a slight tremor still.

Tanger presses his hand on his shoulder and Sidney exhales. After getting out of the car without looking behind, he starts walking around naked trees, his feet crushing dry leaves on the floor. There isn’t much happening around but it’s not silent: birds, a family away from him, and the faint sounds of the city.

He stops when he gets there. The epitaph is written in Russian but Sidney can make out the words easily. So he stands on the patch of grass that, the last time he was there, was a hole in the ground.

It’s dizzying just thinking that under his feet, five feet under the ground, Geno is there. 

“Hey,” Sidney greets him before kneeling and leaving the flowers against it. “I brought you some flowers, like the ones you used buy me, remember?” His hands hang between his legs as he looks at the skyscrapers in the distance, early morning sun shining to them. “You have a nice view here.” He pauses, even though he knows he’s not going to get an answer.

The blue sky over him and the orange shades of the tress surround them, and he just observes.

“I wanted to, I don’t know, apologize to you?” Sidney starts and sits down next to the tombstone, looking around. “I treated your death as if it was something I could ignore when both of us know I could never do that. I mean, do you know? I never asked myself what people do after they– Or if there’s an afterlife or, whatever,” and he stops, shaking his head. “I, I ignore you because I didn’t want to believe it.”

His vision it’s getting blurry and he just blinks at the sky, seeing some lone cloud pass by.

“I don’t want you to be dead but you are. It fucking hurts, G, fuck,” he curses under his breath, which comes out wobbly. “I’m sorry for not giving you a proper goodbye, for not telling you things I should have told. Like,” and there goes the tears so he laughs. “Did you know I love you? Alex says you did but I don’t think that’s enough. I tend to ask myself that you said I love you with meaning that night, remember? _I love you,”_ Sidney pronounces the Russian phrase slowly, tasting the words on his mouth. “It’s not like it matters now, you’re there and I’m here.”

Sidney isn’t sure where to look, if up to the sky or to the ground, and it’s not like he can focus on anything so he presses the palm of his hand on his eyes. “Alex made me promise that one of us will win the Cup for you and –oh, yeah, you totally miss this. I’m now friends with Sasha, your Sasha,” he snorts. “He wanted to be my best friend but I think he’s moving things to fast.” He talks alone, telling him about what he has missed, but he’s mostly babbling to himself –or to Geno, who knows.

It’s a while until his phone pings, a message from Tanger.

He texts back, something short before getting up.

“I’ll come back soon,” he announces to the air and he squints as the sun starts to hit on them. “I feel like I should thank you, for existing once.” Sidney isn’t sure if he should say something else so he leans and touches the tombstone with his fingertips, and leaves, walking on the same path.

When he’s back in the car, Tanger and Flower doesn’t say anything and just press their hands on his shoulder, on his arm, comforting. Before Flower starts the car, Sidney looks down at the glove compartment and opens it, searching for something. “What is that?” He asks, when Sidney takes out the chain, holding it carefully on his hand.

Sidney rests the pendants on his hand, touching them lightly. “Geno’s chain.” Tanger inhales sharply.

Flower turns his head and observes Sidney: he has two chains on his lap and he’s treading Geno’s pendants into his own. The saints clink against each other quietly, softly. Tanger is leaning over the middle and also looking. It feels like they are watching something holy happen because there’s seriousness on Sidney’s face and his fingers move delicately.

 When he has the chain around his neck, a little heavier than before, Sidney turns to look at them.

“We go?” He asks, and the boys shot him gentle smiles.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

 

-

 

Throughout the season, the whole teams keep an eye on Sidney, ones more than others.

As soon as media is allowed to come a few days into training camp, they pile up in front of Sidney’s stall in a way they haven’t seen since his concussion problems. Flower shares worried looks with Kuni and other guys from the other side of the room. Media is swarming around him like bees, throwing questions like arrows and seeing if any of them can hit an emotional bull’s-eye.

Sidney just looks at them with bright eyes, running a towel over his sweaty face in time to time, and answers the questions with a cheekiness that makes Jake laugh on the stall next to him.  It’s a nice way to end their practice day.

Off the ice, he’s calm and kind. He also smiles and giggles more often than before, but that has nothing to do with the internal competition they have to know who can make Sidney laugh the hardest –both Hags and Horny are tied in first. Besides that, there’s something about the way Sidney carries himself now that makes all the kids look at him with awe on their faces, more obvious than before. Flower wonders if there would be a shift on the way he’s on ice.

And, oh boy, Sidney is on fire.

Some of them have grown to recognize that intense face he gets in time to time, when the team is struggling and he’s ready to pull them into a win no matter what it takes. Yet, with the start of the season around the corner, that willingness gets transformed into a full-body expression: his shots seem harder and more precise, his plays are rougher but smarter, and Cully swears he’s even faster than before. “Man, it’s because you’re old,” it’s Bone’s response which gets him into a headlock in the middle of the hallway. 

Either way, that pushes all of them to be better, to grow as players. Flower is a little astonished but he knows he’s not the only one.

He thinks this fire is the pump of the start of the season burning inside him, wanting to prove that last year wasn’t the beginning of the end. “ _He’s going to burn down, eventually_ ,” he tells Duper in french, who’s on the line and calls every so often to catch up on their lives. He sits down on a kitchen chair watching his youngest daughter sipping on some juice. “ _I’m not sure if he can maintain this level of, of intensity, I don’t know.”_

But, even after many years of friendship, ups and downs and highs and lows, Sidney still manages to surprise Flower like the first day.

On their first game of the season, Sidney gets a natural hat trick. He thinks well, maybe he’s just _that_ good, you know? Whenever he puts his mind into something, he can make things work. They enter the locker room with wide smiles, Sidney looking at his team and Flower can’t help but think that everything feels alright.

Even when they snatch some wins in the first month, not every day is a great day.

Sometimes they catch the corner of Sidney’s mouth pointing downwards, or that pensive and sad expression he sometimes gets when they are on a roadie, mostly when they return to San Jose. Whoever gets to sit beside him would find him looking outside the window –of the plane, of the bus, of the hotel– lost on his thoughts while his hand play with the saints on his neck. It feels almost intrusive to ask what’s on his mind, but they managed to find a way around it when that happens: they tap on Sidney’s arm, softly, to get his attention.

Sidney just looks back, blinking certain dazedness from his eyes.

They also see Sidney come out of the psychologist’s office on the early mornings before practice. Some of the guys don’t mention it, at all, but other people do freely. “Good session?” Dales asks. The team is scattered around the room eating breakfast, and both of them are sitting next to each other.

Sidney takes a breath and nods. “Yeah, I think so,” he answers. Then, he leans back on his chair, playing with the fork on his hand, and looks at Dales with a curious expression. “Is it normal if sometimes it feels like it isn’t productive and you’re stuck in the same place?”

“Dude,” Dales looks at him, eyebrow risen and soft smile. “Totally normal. Or sometimes you feel even worst?” Sidney laughs, because he does relate. It’s a sign of progress, Dales tells him, and Sidney believes him.  

Maybe he’s not that good off the ice sometimes, but on it, Sidney is tearing his way through the season.

No team seems to find a way to bring him down, no matter how many times they see face each other. Even on the games they lose, Sidney keeps having good nights in terms of performance, and it doesn’t matter that the team sometimes pulls a shit show around him, he’s there for them.

He’s there not only helping them on the games but after them. Sidney sits down next to Olli on the bus and listens to him, not caring that there are Finnish words finding their way out, or with his kids, who huddle up together on the dinner table at their hotel, and he does his best to cheer them up. He sits with the veterans when they nurse bruises and sprains on the trainer’s room, and they talk about nothing and everything at the same time.

Flower remembers Sidney congratulating Rusty on a beautiful goal that, right now, doesn’t really matter since they ended up losing in overtime against Columbus.

“So?” Sidney asks him, his hair still wet from the shower. “It’s part of the game, Rusty. Just learn from what you did, make it count next time,” and just as that, he takes a swig from his water bottle and gets up to collect his stuff. Flower, who had been watching everything, has to keep himself from laughing when he sees Rusty’s amazed expression, how he shoots a look to Scotty, who answers back with a bright smile.

It’s almost impossible not to notice how Sidney has grown in such a short time, how he has learned to shape the things in his life to make them work on his favor. It’s something that the team learns with him.

When they encounter Columbus again, only a few weeks later, they win.

And they win after that.

And after that.

And suddenly, they skyrocket to the longest winning streak on the league to date.

It’s in the middle of March when they come out from the ice after their 20th consecutive win and Flower feels dizzy. He wasn’t even on neat that night. Matt does look dizzy, after he throws himself on his stall, and shares looks with him from the other side of the room. When Sidney emerges from the hallway and waddles into the locker room, they joyful yells seem as loud as the crowd outside. Horny pushes Sidney jokingly, widest smile on his face.

Sidney only laughs back.

Flower looks at him and smiles.

If this is only the end of the season, what the fuck will happen in the playoffs?

 

-

 

The announcer says there’s one minute left on the final game and Flower feels dizzy.

He’s not sick but the excitement building up inside his stomach makes him feel weird. If he could be an object right now, it would be a balloon full of confetti because he feels he’s going to burst in euphoria as soon as the clock ticks to zero. There are mere seconds away from the price. So, he keeps his head cool and tries not to falter.

He succeeds.

At the moment the horn sounds, it’s like everything around Flower goes mute.

Flower doesn’t even have time to react to the boys launching themselves onto him and, when he’s buried between sweaty jerseys and overjoyed faces, he’s thankful he’s wearing his pads and his helmet. He starts to laugh as soon as his brain catches up with reality because they are, for the first time in almost seven years, Stanley Cup champions.

Part of him knows it’s not that long between cups, there are other clubs were the span is even longer, or teams whose hands have never gotten to touch it. Yet, after the first time he touched the Cup, that day and this one feels like the longest stretch in his life. An eternity.

As soon as they let him go, he finds Sidney in the mass that is the team. Flower pulls him into the tightest hug he can manage. Both of them are crying happy tears, and Flower just presses kisses into his cheek, mumbling thank yous and sorrys that doesn’t express enough. Sidney just looks at him with shiny eyes, smile still bright on his face.

Making his way around the team hugging his boys, Flower sees Matt cruise around slowly with a limp, and he can’t help but look at his feet. He knows that’s the only reason why Flower was on the net throughout the last part of the series.

He feels guiltily grateful.

Jake bumps into him and Flower sees how he runs to Sheary excitedly, both of them jumping. Some others are still colliding into sweaty, cheerful hugs. Their coach is there, patting backs and shaking hands, with an expression that’s similar to one a proud parent would wear. After that, the handshakes are always bittersweet, and more so when Flower encounters familiar faces who are trying to keep their composure for a few minutes before disappearing into the tunnel to their locker room.

When the Cup appears on the other side of the rink, shining under the bright lights of the arena, the yellow and black crowd roars intensely. Flower gets the chills just being there. Tanger and Kuni are standing on his sides, and he knows Phil is standing behind because he hears him laugh, almost out of breath, because _there it is._ He hears some swears around him, coming from Hags’ mouth and when he turns around, he sees Cullen with his arms around Schultzy, who’s crying happily.

Flower turns his head back to look at the Cup, Gary Bettman’s voice booming and the crowd already booing, when something catches his attention.

He sees the 71 on the ice, talking to someone behind the bench.

The Malkin is stitched on the back proudly, the Penguin colors matching the banner that’s hanging above them, witnessing them making story. Flower wants to believe it’s Geno even when he knows it’s impossible. The person is smaller, the jersey fitting oddly on the shoulders, and it’s not Geno in any way, shape or form.

It’s the Captain’s honor to lift the Stanley Cup, and as soon as those words leave Bettman’s mouth, that person is moving towards it.

Sidney.

Flower hears the gasps from his teammates grouped around him, as if any of them can’t believe it. A shiver runs up his spine and tears start to appear on his eyes, he wants to cry for totally different reasons. All he can feel is a mixture of emotions swirling on his chest. He didn’t think the crowd could get any louder but it’s their home crowd, it’s the same people who watched all of them pull both awful and incredible games. It’s the same people who had watched Sidney and Geno play together, on the same line and on the same team, their own two headed monster, before things turned sour.

Sidney shakes hands with Bettman, they stand side to side for a quick picture, and then the Cup nestles itself on Sidney’s hands, the crowd is waiting for him to lift it as soon as he steps out of the small carpet and on the ice.

Sidney takes a breath and lifts it, his yelling being eaten by the crowd’s own. The team is emotional and soon enough, all of them are skating towards Sid, mobbing him, yelling and laughing, their feelings painting their expression. Dales gets it first and all of them watch him sake around; Flower wonders if his mother is watching, too.

Family and friends are trickling onto the ice, making their way to them, so Flower pulls Sidney aside before they get separated. His fingers dig on the fabric of Geno’s jersey. “It’s weird seeing the 71 on the ice again,” he says, or yells, he isn’t sure. He’s not sure either if this would be the end of their own grief, but it surely feels time to move on, so he asks. “This is it, then? This ties it all?”

Sidney looks at Flower and nods, before passing a hand through his face, cleaning the tears. He looks up, beyond the confetti and the jumbotron before answering. “Maybe. It's just a new beggining.” Flower opens his mouth to say something else when he hears his wife’s voice and before he knows it, the feeling of the jersey isn’t on his fingertips anymore, Sidney is gone and already on his father’s arms.

He smiles and skates away, chest warm and light.

 

-

 

“Are you lost in thoughts again, zvezda?”

Sidney is sitting at the high table, fidgeting with a water bottle, when he turns his head and Alex’s sitting next to him. It’s still strange to see him smile with the same silly expression that he wore on his younger years, but it doesn’t bother Sidney, or maybe it does because he can’t believe Alex hasn’t fixed his tooth situation even after retiring.

“Not really.” He looks ahead and, from up there, he observes the players warming up on the ice, the red Capitals jersey doing loops on the ice over and over again. It doesn’t matter how far away Sidney is, he can find his son in between his teammates just by the way he skates. He has been watching him his whole life, teaching him how to keep his equilibrium when he was younger, and giving him tips whenever they practiced.

He also wears the back of his jersey tucked in, so that helps.

“Can you believe tonight is Danechka’s debut?” Alex asks and Sidney shakes his head.

“Time flies, doesn’t it,” and it’s the truth. It feels like it was yesterday when he had Daniel on his arms, crying loudly for such a small body. He remembers clear eyes looking at him and the tiny fist wrapped around his finger. Sidney he fell in love right in that moment. “I still can’t believe he got drafted here. Thirty two teams and he ends up in Washington.” Alex lets out a pained noise that makes Sidney laugh.

“At least he’s not Flyer” and it’s Sidney’s turn to groan and Alex’s to laugh. “We take care of him here, Sid. Capitals are best, I make sure they are.” Sidney wants to joke and chirping that they aren’t really but his eyes catch the Cup banners hanging motionless on the rafters, two different years while Alex was the captain embroidered proudly on them. Sidney knows he’s searching for a third one, just this time as the owner.

His train of thought stops and he turns to observe Alex in silence. Even when he’s older, when the gray hairs are decorating his head, it feels like his blue eyes are still the same honest ones that watched Sidney break down and compose himself those days in his house. He’s still grateful after so many years, and he has to take a deep breath because, holy shit, it’s been so long since Geno died.

Sidney still remembers him, still makes his way to the hill he’s buried in, and his eyes still fall on Geno’s banner alongside his own whenever he’s watching a game from the press box. The memory of him settles Sidney, comforts him and brings him emotions he thought forgotten.  When big things happen on his life, he wonders if Geno is watching, or what would had happen if he was alive, if he was there next to him, if they were together–

He doesn’t dwell on it. Every moment with his family and his friends in the present is more important than whatever is going around his head.

His eyes are still on Alex. They have been friends for years now, hanging out a lot more after their retirement. And maybe Alex has been his support through the years, through health issues, through happy and euphoric announcements, and through sad times.

Sidney has also kept his promise of being there for him in good and bad. Every time he thinks that, he remembers when Alex came out to the public. The bad taste on his mouth doesn’t disappear as he goes through the reactions of the media, the league, but he feels lightheaded when he remembers _Russia_. That has been the worst of it and even when Alex had prepared himself mentally for what could happen, he spend his days drowned in heartache that not even Nicky could bring him out of.

But even when the wound hasn’t healed and there’s still soreness, Alex is there, smiling. 

“Stop looking,” Alex complains. “And stop thinking, it’s too loud.”

“We’re in a hockey arena on the first game of the season, and you think I’m being loud?” Sidney asks with a hurt tone but trying to hold a smile.

Alex glares at him and almost yells. “I can’t hear you, too many Crosby thoughts!”

“Sasha, stop being ridiculous,” Sidney rolls his eyes and takes a swig from his bottle of water.

Suddenly, there are lips pressing against his cheek and when he turns to see who it is, he encounters clear green eyes and too many freckles on the cheeks. Instinctively, there’s a smile blooming on his face, and he’s getting up from the seat. “Nia, I can’t believe you,” Sidney says happily and pulls his daughter into a hug, before pressing a kiss into her cheek. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

“Yeah, sure,” she shrugs. “As if I’m missing my brother’s debut –c’mon dad, have some faith.”

“Yeah, Sid, have some faith,” Alex repeats with a tone as he gets up from his chair and pulls the young woman into his arms.

He doesn’t have time to answer them before they get tangled in a quick conversation in Russia, and he knows he’s unable to stop them.

Also, Alex’s own daughter appears seconds later and Sidney gives her a hug, too. She has always been part of the family and now more so that his son is dating her. It was quite annoying sometimes, because she inherited his father’s goofiness and Dan likes to play along. The memory of their Halloween costume still haunts him: they wore their fathers’ names and numbers on their backs but Sidney was stitched in a Capitals jersey and Alex’s in a Penguins one. He deleted the picture as soon as he got it.

Their girls, who aren’t really girls anymore but grown up women, are sitting beside Alex, talking in Russian. Sidney then sees Nicky appearing next to them, and soon enough, there’s a hand on his nape and some lips pressing on his temple.

He just lets himself lean into his husband’s touch. “So, you knew.”

“Of course I knew. Someone had to pick her up,” Nikolai answers. Sidney searches for his hand and they end up holding each other’s over Sidney’s shoulder, his thumb caressing the ring on his finger. He closes his eye for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Something’s wrong, Sidnyushka?”

Sidney opens his eyes and looks up at his husband. His eyes travel around his nose and to his cheek, where there’s a scar nestled on his cheekbone. It has been there even before they have met each other, which wasn’t that long after he won the Cup.

They met by accident.

Whenever Alex was in town, most of the time because of a game, they would usually text to find some time to meet. It wasn’t usual if they hung in Sidney’s house, but sometimes Alex would shove his phone at Sidney’s face, showing him the Yelp review of some food place that is open until late. Sidney is a little picky when it comes to food but fighting Alex over it wasn't an option, he always managed a way to convince Sidney and to drag him there.

They would find themselves sitting down on some overpriced restaurant that has vegan stuff on their menu or in some dirty bar that serves the best fries that, one, go against their diet, and two, are really the best fries they have eaten.

One time, they decided to meet the morning after the game on some Russian food place.

It’s a small restaurant in the corner of some street, the Kharlamov something. It’s not the first time Sidney’s has eaten the food there, but it’s the first time he sits down on one of the tables, since they usually ask for take-out. It’s early morning and the sun is entering through the front window and Sidney waits for Alex. Yeah, Alexander Mikhailovich Ovechkin who never appears and after more than half an hour, sends him a text that he’s not going to make it. Sidney doesn’t even respond to Alex’s text and just pockets his phone.

Sidney is, of course, angry and hungry.

He’s still fuming when a cup of tea appears on his table. He follows the hand holding it and ends up looking at the face of a man who has a pink scar on his cheek and bright green eyes. Sidney’s out of breath because he’s, well, pretty fucking handsome but he manages to fumble out his words. “I haven’t asked for anything.”

“I know, it’s my treat,” he says and his Russian accent it’s subtle, soft. “You’ve been waiting for a while.”

Sidney nods, not able to not look at the man. “I’m, uh. I got stood up.”

His face scrunches up. “Sorry about your date.”

“No,” he says quickly. “I mean! No like, it wasn’t a date. The asshole is my best friend.”

The man nods and smiles. “Of course.”

Sidney smiles back and he feels his cheek blush red. “I’m Sidney.”

“Nikolai,” he answers back, a beautiful pronunciation coming out of his mouth. “So, breakfast? We have freshly baked vatrushkas.”

“Yeah,” Sidney answers even though he hates them and he doesn’t really like the texture they have. “I’ll have one.”

“Good,” and when he leaves, Sidney can’t hear anything besides the beating of his own heart. He sits down with his hands around the cup and feeling his heart wanting to beat out of his chest and run through the whole city yelling. Sidney tries to keep it together, and actually enjoys the Russian bread, before paying and leaving.

He tells himself he’s not going to fall so easily, no sir.

He’s lying to himself because he’s, oh, so fucked.

Sidney appears on the store in the mornings, whenever he can, asking for a cup of tea and whatever sweet comes out of his mouth when Nikolai’s eyes are on him. His brain malfunctions whenever he’s around the Russian man, whose smiles are sweet as the kolomna pastilas and the zefirs he gets to go. He doesn’t even eat them because of his diet but instead he sends them to various places on the arena: to the communications room, to the reception, to the training staff room, to the cleaners’ room, to Mario’s office, to Jim’s office, to whoever wants them.

Maybe he gets chirped every time he enters the locker room with sweets and a foolish smile.

It’s when Alex and him actually have breakfast there that he realizes how fucked he is.

Nikolai is standing next to their table not a few minutes after they sit down, looking between them. “The best friend?” He asks, pointing out at Alex.

“Yeah,” Sidney answers earnestly because he’s talking to Nikolai and it’s the first time he has referred at Alex like his best friend in his presence. Alex doesn’t say anything but there’s a smile forming on his lips as he’s observing them. Both of them exchange pleasantries in Russian and Nikolai leaves to search their tea, and let them decide what they want to eat.  Alex is just grinning at Sidney. “What?”

“You’re in love.” Alex’s grin widens.

Sidney shushes quickly, frowning at him. “I’m not!”

“You should ask him for date,” he says as it was the most normal thing. He hides behind the menu. “Very pretty.”

“Fuck you,” Sidney feels his cheek warmth and he inflates his cheeks. “He is.”

“Didn’t know you had thing for Russians,” Alex says, moving his eyebrows in a suggesting way. “Am I pretty, zvezda?” Sidney doesn’t say anything; he just throws his napkin into Alex’s face, who’s laughing. Nikolai finds them like this, Alex giggling like a child and Sidney blushing furiously. It doesn’t take them long to order but before Nikolai leaves, Alex start to talk to him in Russian.

Sidney doesn’t understand what they are saying, but Nikolai is attentive and nods every so often.

“Okay, Sid. You have free day tomorrow, you have date, get own Kolya,” Alex announces and Sidney feels his face flush red. He can’t meet Nikolai’s eyes and he only hides his face between his hands, making both of them laugh.

He has the sweetest laugh, just like his pastries.

Sidney returns to reality when his husband hums next to him, calling his name. His husband, holy shit. “I’m good, just thinking.”

Nikolai doesn’t say anything, accustomed to his habits after all those years. He presses another kiss on Sidney’s hair, black and gray hairs mixing without a pattern, before he moves away and goes to greet Alex with something that Sidney has learn to translate like _hey, asshole_. Alex pinches him lightly on the arm, annoyed. The girls laugh. Nicky just smiles.

Minutes later Daniel goes into his first shift and he scores his first goal, jumping around excitedly. The Crosby stitched on his back seems more like his name right now and not his father’s legacy. Sidney yells as if he had just won the Stanley Cup, pulling Nikolai into a tight hug.

And, in the small warmth that Nikolai brings to him, Sidney feels everything.

He’s overwhelmed but he is there, his family is, life is good, and nothing else matters.

Everything is alright.

 


	2. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a small epilogue. i'm not sure if i wrote this because i love magic and ghosts and things like that, or just to settle down some debts sidney and geno had with each other. once again, **i'm @[speaksarcastically](http://speaksarcastically.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!!**
> 
>  
> 
> lots of love.

Geno wakes up but he doesn’t remember falling asleep.

He knows before he even sees the tombstone with his name that he’s just a spirit that doesn’t really belong there, but he _is_ there.

From where he stands, he can see the bright and tall buildings against the background that’s the night sky. He walks to them, guided by the feeling of home that seems to grown on the city, or beyond it. There are other eyes around the cemetery that are looking at him disapprovingly, but Geno doesn’t really care. Neither of them should be up but they are, so fuck them, he might as well go for a walk before he goes to sleep again.

Geno finds himself walking downtown, street lights shining over him as he makes his way through the snowy streets, steps muffled by the snow, wait –did his steps had sound on the first place?

He isn’t sure how long he had been walking when he starts recognizing the corners, a little changed, of the streets he used to walk. He looks up and he finds the arena, now with the name of a brand he doesn’t recognize, and on the crystals, faces of some players he isn’t sure he knows but resembles to people he did know, and something about them makes him feel warm inside.

The hallways are dim and empty, Geno doesn’t know what hour it is or how he made it inside, but he’s looking at his old stall and finds himself searching for Sidney’s right, in the middle. He doesn’t find the name but someone else’s. Making his way through the hallways and through the tunnel, he looks at the walls and the pictures there.

Then, he finds himself skating on the ice. It’s weird, because he doesn’t have any skates on. He should feel cold but instead, he feels at home.

Geno stands on the blue line, feeling a phantom weight on his hands and a metallic taste on his lips. When he looks up, there in the rafters, he see his name, Sidney’s and a Stanley Cup banner he doesn’t remember being there last time he looked up. Either way, that’s where it belongs.

He gets out into the snowy street and walks and walks and walks, he doesn’t know how long but he walks until he’s in the middle of a street he knew, houses he recognizes painting its sides. There’s one that stands out, not because of the color or the shape, but something inside it calling him. There are lights decorating the windows, their colors shining against the white snow and the dark night, and Geno gets closer.

Going around, he steps on the porch at the back of the house, leans to look at the window, and that’s where he finds him.

Sidney.

Sitting on a small couch next to a man, whose arm is around his shoulders, and Sidney’s leaning against him comfortably before both of them start to laugh. There are wrinkles that Geno isn’t familiar with, they seem almost out of place, and there are gray hairs decorating his temples. Yet, he still has that same impossibly warm smile that Geno learned to love.

The living room is full with people, the whole house is. There are some people moving in and out of the room but the ones sitting are looking at a young woman rant about something and Geno notices it’s Muzz sitting beside her, holding one of her hands and looking at her with a drunk and loving expression. They all laugh until it’s interrupted abruptly by a baby crying, which makes them laugh quietly. It’s Olli who gets up from somewhere he can’t see and starts moving up and down, his child quickly falling quiet.  

Geno looks back at Sidney and, by accident or by miracle, their eyes meet.

Sidney freezes and blinks a few times, trying to figure out if he’s seeing things.

Before Geno knows it, Sidney is closing the backdoor and hiding his hands on the pockets of his jacket. He stands there with an unreadable expression on his face. “You’re old, Sid,” it’s the first thing Geno says and Sidney just smiles, brightly, and there are tears already forming on his eyes.

He walks over, looking a little pale, and with his feet brushes some snow from one of the steps of the stair. He sits down and Geno does the same next to him. “I’m going insane,” Sidney mumbles to himself but doesn’t move from his spot. “I’m old. Time has passed since you died.”

Geno hums before he nods. “You retired.”

“Yeah, a few years after we won the Cup. I had a concussion scare, a bad fall that knocked me right out, and it made me think,” he answers and he starts pressing his foot against the snow on the other steps, leaving shoe shaped marks on it. “I’m still part of the organization though, I’m working alongside Mario.”

“I’m think after you retired, you go and live in Canada. What happen?” Geno asks, and there’s genuine interest in his tone.

A cold breeze made Sidney lift his shoulders to his ears. “I have a family here,” he smiles and looks at Geno for the first time in a while. He’s still the same person he remembers, the same patchy beard, the same lips, the same sleepy expression and the same awkwardly shaped nose that Sidney could draw by memory only –it feels surreal. “I got married.”

Geno takes a sharp breath, mostly because he always thought he would be the one to marry Sid, but things didn’t go the way he planned. He’s not sure if Sidney can read it on his face. “Yeah? Good man?”

“Yeah,” Sidney pauses, as if he’s trying to figure out where to start. “His name is Nikolai. Kolya.”

“Best taste in men, Sid,” Geno comments and Sidney snorts, shaking his head.

“I don’t know how I manage to get so many Russian men in my life, it’s ridiculous,” he confesses to Geno before his expression softens. “But yeah, he’s, he’s an incredible man. He knows a lot about Russian hockey history but he’s awful at it,” Sidney laughs. “He makes good sweets, though.”

“Sweet teeth,” Geno laughs and he leans forwards to look better at Sidney. “And kids? You always want kids, good with them.”

“Uh, I have two. Nia, uh,” he chokes on the words and lets out a shaky breath. “Her name is Eugenia. It’s like Evgeni, you know? Eugene, Evgeni, something along those lines. She’s a ridiculous good journalist.” The expression that appears on Geno’s face is one of surprise, one that touches deep. Sidney remembers seeing a similar one on Flower, when he had her on his arms a few days after she was born. He told her the name and Flower ended up crying quietly, his fingertip tracing her little nose.

It takes Geno a while to form out an answer because he never expected that. There are feelings mixing on his chest, all of them good. “Zhenechka, it’s best name.”

“Yeah. Daniel is the youngest, he somehow plays for the Capitals,” he smiles and shrugs. “Sasha seemed happy.”

“You friends now, you tell me,” Geno says and it’s Sidney’s turn to look surprised. “I’m remember.”

He smiles as he shakes his head. “This is so weird.”

Geno is silent for a moment before he asks. “Nicky and Sasha?”

“Married, too,” Sidney announces.

“Finally,” Geno grumbles. “Have to listen Sasha cry about Nicky not loving him. Nicky love him but Sasha just too stupid.”

Sidney laughs. Geno observes their surroundings when he looks at Sidney and sees how his fingers search for something under the jacket. They come out with golden: the chain around his neck with the pendants hanging from it. He frowns when he notices some of them.

Sidney catches him looking. “Oh yeah, some of these are yours,” he thumbs at one of the saints. “Your mom gave them to me, I don’t know why.”

“To have memory of me,” and Geno’s not sure why he says that, but he does, and his fingers are reaching for the chain before he realizes. Sidney doesn’t move and just feels the cold brushing his own fingers, trailing down his arm, making him shiver. “I’m sorry.” Sidney shakes his head and doesn’t say anything.

Geno gets up and stands in front of Sidney, a few steps down the stair. Both of them stay in silence, listening to the sounds that are coming from inside the house. It’s not a few seconds later when Geno notices that Sidney’s crying after he hears the faint sniff.

“I miss you, even after all these years.”

“I’m, I,” Geno pauses before he starts again. “I wake up and not feel, just know I’m not same, so I’m not sure if I do. But I remember some things, Sid. I’m not sure I say now because you’re married,” and that makes Sidney look up at him. “I love you, Sidnyushka.”

Sidney closes his eyes tightly, taking a deep and slow breath, and Geno sees how some tears fall and run across his cheeks. “I love you, too. I still do, just, it’s different now.” He laughs and cleans his face with his hands, momentarily pressing the palm of his hands on his eyes, before he looks again at Geno. “I’m upset that I never told you how import you were and how much you meant to me and–”

“Sid,” Geno interrupts him and smiles back. “I know, always know. You too. You were most important thing to me.”

Sidney has his lips in a thin line, as if he’s trying to hold himself together, but it gets shaped into a smile that speaks volumes to Geno. “Okay. I just, I needed to know that.” He opens his mouth to say something else when the back door opens. Sidney turns around is Nikolai looking at him. When he looks ahead, to the end of the stairs, he doesn’t find Geno. He wants to get up and call him but something inside him tells him it’s not necessary. Whatever they needed to talk about, they talked, and Sidney feels warmer than before.

“Hey,” his husband calls in a soft voice, concern obvious on his voice. He walks to Sidney, who is getting up from his spot in the steps. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?” Nikolai presses his hand on his face, brushing some tears away. “Why are you crying?”

“Those are too many questions,” Sidney answers back and just presses a chaste kiss on Nikolai’s lips. “I love you.”

His husband moves his head back and glares at him, Sidney just laughs. “Why did I marry you? You’re so weird,” he says but kisses him back. Nikolai brushes some of the snow that fell onto Sidney’s shoulders before he’s pushing him inside, telling him that Jake and his girlfriend are already leaving and they should say goodbye.

When he steps into the house, Sidney feels like a whole. Like something inside has filled, a piece completing the puzzle of his heart.

And, for the first time in forever, he knows things are alright.

Everything is alright.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. **remember!!** grief has its own lifespan, unique to anyone, and you can’t “do it” wrong. if you think you have healed from someone’s death quickly or it’s taking you too long, it’s okay. it's your own time.  
>  2\. if you’re a little sad, because of this fic or not, google huddled baby penguins. you’re welcome.  
> 3\. maybe alex and sid had something, maybe alex and nicky have an open relationship, who cares ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> 4\. i’ve spend writing this with the Nocturnal Animals and the Her soundtracks on repeat, in case you wanted to know.  
> 5\. english is not my mother language, so if did a major mistake, please tell me!! i won't be upset. 
> 
>  
> 
> **i'm @[speaksarcastically](http://speaksarcastically.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! you can leave me prompts or talk to me, make sure the off-season hasn't kill me.**


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